


The Dying Game

by bellamytbh



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Horror, M/M, Mystery, all the gays, but also angsty gays, especially fluffy gays, sometimes sad gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-11-19 10:58:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11311971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellamytbh/pseuds/bellamytbh
Summary: After the brutal murder of their mother, twins Bellamy and Octavia Blake are thrust into the center of a cruel game by a masked serial killer threatening to pick off their friends one by one.- Inspired by cliché yet iconic horror/slasher movies such as Scream, Halloween and I Know What You Did Last Summer.





	1. well, it's time for someone new to die.

**Author's Note:**

> henlo yes new work and its heavily inspired by scream (both the movie and tv series)!! i think a problem with my writing before was that i never really planned them out before i wrote them so i always wrote myself into a hole and then lost muse to finish. but this story is COMPLETELY planned out down to the last sentence so i will ACTUALLY finish this one!! enjoy ~~~

Death. Bellamy Blake didn’t fully grasp the concept until it was served to him on a silver platter. His own mother, dead.  
  
Murdered was the correct term.  
  
The clouds looked heavy in the sky, as if they were attached to a thread – threatening to detach at any second. He stood stoically over an empty six-foot hole in the ground, watching as strange men lowered his parent’s body into the Earth. Her coffin, a deep shade of brown, adorned with bouquets of flowers brought by relatives he had not heard from in years.  
  
He let his hand fall to his side and inched it closer towards his twin sister, Octavia. The two interlocked fingers, holding on to each-other out of fear that there wouldn’t be anything else to hold on too soon. Bellamy looked down at her, a girl once so bright and full of life, had slowly been drained. The protruding dark bags underneath her brown eyes seemed to create a slide for her tears. She shivered in the wind and moved closer to her brother.  
  
But Bellamy was cold too, hardened by this nightmare he couldn’t wake up from.  
  
To his right was John Murphy, but to Bellamy, he was just Murphy. The slender boy pulled his arms closer to his chest, refusing to let his body’s warmth flee. Bellamy was glad that Murphy came, in fact he showed no signs of hesitation when the morbid opportunity was offered.  
  
Tree branches began to quiver, as if they wept with him. The sun offered up its last ray as the casket, void of a life, settled into its new home.  
  
**one year later.**  
  
Pop music blared through a pair of speakers hung up haphazardly on the wall. The wooden floors beneath Bellamy’s feet thudded, matching each note of the song. Hormonal, acne-ridden teenagers colliding their bodies against one another in some misdirected attempt to find a partner for the night. The room smelled of sweat and cheap liquor, along with the occasional scent of marijuana – probably embedded in some red-eyed teenager’s clothes from a previous smoke session.  
  
Bellamy stood, his back pressed against the wall, his hands holding a plastic red cup of water between them. It was loud, too loud. He could feel the early stages of a headache settling in. The colors of the ever-flashing strobe lights made the scene look like something out of some cliché teen party movie. But that’s what it was. A party. It was the 'end of the year' party, thrown every June to mark the end of the school year. Of course, it wasn’t a school-sanctioned event. It was always at some random senior’s house, one with rich parents and a big house the entire student body could destroy for the night.  
  
Murphy pushed through a crowd of dancing teens and inserted himself next to Bellamy, the alcoholic liquid in his own cup splashing onto his hands, he licked the drops off and looked up at his boyfriend. “Having fun?” he asked.  
  
Bellamy made a ‘I can’t hear you’ gesture.  
  
Murphy leaned in closer, his lips trailing along the other boy’s ear, “Having fun?” he asked, slightly louder.  
  
Bellamy shrugged his shoulders, “I’ll have more fun now that you’re here.” He smirked.  
  
The two boys had been inseparable since the tail end of sophomore year, so they had been dating for about two years now. They did everything together, shop, eat, sleep, it was almost as if they were married. Their relationship turned last year when Bellamy’s mother was murdered – it was a deeply emotional time which seemed to strengthen the two’s bond, but at the same time Bellamy grew cold and shut Murphy out for a while.  
  
Octavia, on the other hand, didn’t have a romantic partner to turn too last year. It wasn’t until only a few months ago did she find Lincoln, a college sophomore who she fell madly in love with. And a little too quickly, for Bellamy’s taste. There were times where Bellamy felt like Lincoln was playing Octavia, and there were times where he tried to keep the two apart. But it was only in Bellamy’s nature to be over-protective, he was the big brother after all.  
  
Even if he was only older by three minutes.  
  
There was no father in the picture for the twins, and after the loss of their mother, the only parental figure the two had was their mother’s brother. They moved in with him and he has provided generously. But, he was emotionally distant and the twins couldn’t blame him. He lost a sister.  
  
So, Octavia only had Bellamy looking out for her.  
  
Bryan, a six foot four, freckled, brown-haired, baby-faced, football stud came tumbling into the room, he held up both arms and received a mighty round of applause from the party-goers. Bellamy didn’t understand why; football season was long over. But, Bryan was the quarterback of the local college’s team and therefor a local hero around the small town. Bellamy gripped onto his shoulder, “Hey, you’ve seen Octavia?” he inquired.  
  
Bryan took a swig of his drink, the pungent stench of alcohol slapping Bellamy in the face when he opened his mouth. “Yeah! She’s upstairs. With Lincoln.” Bryan winked as if he forgot that the inappropriate gesture wouldn’t sit well with Octavia’s brother.  
  
“Thanks.” Bellamy let the man go off into the center of the party as Bellamy moved in the opposite direction – away from it – as Murphy followed closely behind.  
Bryan and Lincoln were best friends, both high school football stars that couldn’t seem to let that small town fame die and decided to became the next best thing - college football stars. They did everything together, camped, hiked, ate, probably slept at the same time, they even worked at the same movie theater. If Lincoln wasn’t dating Octavia, Bellamy would’ve assumed he was gay.  
  
And with that thought two other guys Bellamy always thought were gay came tumbling into the slightly vacant living room: Jasper Jordan and Monty Green. These two were also best friends, but not football stars. They were the town’s local geeks/stoners, always talking about some cheap horror movie, some dumb video game, or some good weed.  
  
Monty was inebriated, obviously, running wild, and a sober Jasper was trailing behind him trying to get a hold of the other boy. The scene looked like a farmer trying to catch a slippery, muddy pig.  
  
“Come on Monty, I gotta get you home!” Jasper pleaded.  
  
“One! More! Drink!” Monty’s word slurred into one another, the vowels crashing and the consonants fading.  
  
“You need some help Jasper?” Bellamy asked, handing his cup of water to Murphy, preparing to jump into the scene.

“Please.” Jasper’s wide eyes said enough.  
  
The two boys covered the exits of the room, Monty ran back and forth between them, trying to slip through random passerby’s in a desperate hope to sneak off into the party room and get more liquor. Eventually the boy tired out and Bellamy managed to scoop him up into his arms.  
  
“You guys are no fun!” A sleepy Monty proclaimed as Bellamy loaded him into the back of Jasper’s jeep.  
  
“You’re a life-saver bro.” Jasper gave Bellamy a friendly slap on the back, in which Bellamy responded with a nod and a wish for him to drive safely.  
  
Bellamy turned on his heels and was just about to head back into the party when his pocket vibrated. He dug his fingers into the opening of the fabric of his jeans and slipped out his,  
  
Cell phone.  
  
A text.  
  
From an unknown number.  
  
Bellamy blinked in the laminating glow, his eyes scrunched as he made out the small array of words in front of him.  
  
“You love helping, Bellamy. But you can’t help everyone. You can’t save everyone.”  
  
The text was cryptic, and Bellamy didn’t know what to make of it.  
  
So, he tucked his phone into his back pocket and headed back to the party, telling no one of the text.  
  
And later that night, a brutal murder would rock the small town to its core and open closed wounds that would set off a new mystery, with Bellamy and his twin sister, Octavia, at its center.  
  
Welcome to: **The Dying Game**.


	2. death has come to your little town, sheriff.

Monty Green.  
  
The name would come to haunt Octavia for days to come.  
  
Her lips pursed and her brows furrowed, a single tear threatening to spill as her eyes glazed over the television screen. A blonde news-woman named Hillary spoke slowly, somberly, as she allowed the viewers to grasp at the words she was throwing at them at seven in the morning.  
  
Monty Green.  
  
Dead.  
  
No, murdered was the correct term.  
  
Murdered in his own home.  
  
Hillary went on to talk about the crime scene, bloody, obscene, heart-breaking.  
  
Octavia couldn’t help but think of poor Monty Green, inebriated after the party unable to fend off some intruder, crying for help. But, there was no one around to help. She thought of poor Monty Green, alone and scared, taking his last shallow breath on the floor of his bedroom.  
  
Octavia swiftly grabbed at the remote beside her and turned the television off. The noise coming to an immediate stop and the house settling into its natural quiet. But the buzzing inside her own head refused to settle. She closed her Bambi eyes and took a deep breath, counting the cycles.  
  
One.  
  
Inhale.  
  
Two.  
  
Exhale.  
  
Three.  
  
Inhale.  
  
She could see them behind the closed curtain of her eyelids. The news reporters storming at her, asking her what she thought about her mother’s murder, who could have possibly done such a thing. The lights of their cameras blinding her, their intrusive questions disguised as caring and thoughtful ones. She could feel her twin brother gripping her arm, pulling her closer towards him; urging her to use him as a shield while police escorted them to the front door of their home. Their mother’s home. Where their mother was murdered, in her bedroom.  
  
Alone.  
  
Like Monty Green.  
  
Octavia’s breaths quickened now.  
  
One, inhale, exhale.  
  
Two, inhale, exhale.  
  
Three, inhale.  
  
She was forgetting to exhale. The breath hitched in her throat, she was choking on her own air.  
  
“Breathe, Octavia.” The brown-haired girl reminded herself, just like her therapist had taught her. But, the oxygen felt toxic in her throat. She couldn’t stop picturing her mother, bloody and bruised, crying out for help as some intruder forced a knife into her abdomen and then taking that sharp metal and stabbing her literally in the back. Octavia thought about that strange man, wiping down every surface with bleach, carefully and intricately, making sure nothing could be traced back to him; as her mother watched through teary-eyes, bleeding out on the carpet.  
  
Of course, there had been several suspects. Local sex offenders. Ex-cons. Biker guys from bars. Neighbors. Distant relatives even. But there was never a total match. Part of Octavia had wished someone was charged and jailed, just to ease her mind. But, another part of Octavia knew it was unfair to imprison an innocent man – even if they had committed crimes in the past.  
  
Octavia shook her head, begging herself to think of something different. The calculus final on Friday.  
  
Her mother was good at calculus.  
  
The new episode of her favorite TV show.  
  
Her mother used to watch TV with her.  
  
No matter what she thought about, her mother somehow find a way to include herself. And now here she was again, loud and bright, being mocked in Monty’s murder.  
  
Octavia opened her eyes. She couldn’t let this destroy her.  
  
Not like last time.  
  
|||  
  
Bellamy pulled the white earbuds out of his ear and took his assigned seat. Homeroom was his least favorite part of the day, but fortunately there was only a week and some change left till the end of his senior year. He had never believed when people told him that high school would fly by, “its four years, that’s a hell of a long time.” He had thought to himself. But, now he was here. The end.  
  
Now that he thought about it, his high school experience was nothing note-worthy. He hadn’t dated much, one girlfriend freshman year, and then he had dated Murphy throughout the rest. Football games attended: maybe three or two. Number of t-shirts he owned stamped with his high school logo: zero. He had been high or drunk way less than his peers had, in fact the first time he had done either was during the summer of his junior year – and that was only because he needed something to help him cope. After a string of late night throw ups and a very concerned Octavia, he had sworn off self-medicating.  
  
Bellamy still remembered that morning. His body slumped lazily across his uncle’s leather couch, the taste of vomit still present in the back of his throat. His clothes smelled like stale smoke, his eyes puffy and auburn tinted. Octavia stood over him, her hair wet from the shower she had just took, the water droplets falling onto his forehead, pulling him from his sleep. He wanted to say something but all he could muster up was a “hmm” and a groan.  
  
Octavia had always been a stoic girl, refusing to show emotions unless necessary. When their mother died, she cried alone in her room and wouldn’t let Bellamy in. But, that morning, she knelt by Bellamy’s side and her eyes welled up. He hated making Octavia cry.  
  
“I won’t be able to live if you die, Bell.” Was all she sobbed out before leaving him alone with his stench and half-empty mind.  
  
At first, Bellamy remembered how selfish she must’ve been to even say that. The therapist had prescribed her medication after the emotional breakdown she went through. She didn’t need cheap weed and their uncle’s liquor. But the therapist gave Bellamy nothing, he had talked to her several times, stating how torn up he felt. Bellamy had shared deep, personal emotional conflicts but the therapist said he was coping fine and offered up breathing techniques. Fucking breathing techniques! As if that would help.  
  
He grew to resent Octavia a little. Watching her stroll through the school hallways, freshly medicated and feeling fine. Bellamy had wished someone was helping him through the whole thing, but he was alone.  
  
“You guys heard about Monty?” a hushed voice in the back of the classroom caught Bellamy’s attention – his ears perked up and his head titled ever so slightly to hear.  
  
“It’s so sad...” a girl responded, “I heard his mother found him, she nearly had a heart attack.” There were nods and sounds of agreements and ‘yeah I heard that too’.  
  
“My aunt’s a cop.” One guy started, knowing that sentence alone would establish the credibility of whatever line he was about to throw out next, “said he was stabbed nine times, but was already dead after the third one.”  
  
Bellamy’s heart sunk. Monty Green, dead. The news reverberating in his ears, his brain refusing to process the information. How? Bellamy had saw him just this weekend, talked to him, helped him, touched him.  
  
“This whole thing reminds me of last year, y’know, when that woman was murdered… what was her name?” One of the girls said a little too loudly.  
  
The conversation was struck dead by one of the boys placing a finger on his lips, “Shh!” he spat before gesturing to the door, “She’s here.”  
  
She.  
  
Octavia stood in the doorframe of the class, subtly pronouncing her arrival. The sun’s light, reflecting through the windows in the hall, shone upon her skin; making her look like a slow, hazy dream.  
  
Her chocolate hair sat delicately upon her shoulders in loose curls. She wore sweatpants and a baggy sweater: a sign of how much she could care less to be here. Her dull clothes contrasted the natural beauty she was.  
  
The kids in the back of the class had stopped talking because they were talking about her mother, who was also Bellamy’s mother, but it seemed as if they forgot who he was entirely.  
  
Octavia made her way over to her twin and took a seat next to him. “Monty…” she started.  
  
“I know.” He finished.  
  
“I’m scared, Bell.”  
  
“Me too.”  
  
It was a frightening situation to be in. The fact they had never found the guy who murdered their murder and the fact Monty’s murder was eerily like the former, was enough to make the twin’s skin crawl.  
  
The girl took a deep breath, “You don’t think it could be the same guy?”  
  
Bellamy shook his head, “No way.” He lied. It could definitely be the same guy, but sending Octavia into some deep emotional breakdown was the last thing he wanted right now.  
  
The bell rang and in some odd synchronization, the homeroom teacher walked in. Mr. Prescott was an older man of maybe fifty, with a patchy beard and shoulder-length grey hair reminiscent of his hippie youth days. He carried a leather briefcase in one hand and a yellow piece of paper in the other. Mr. Prescott spoke loud and coherently, “I’m sure you’ve all heard the tragic news. Guidance counselors are here to help anyone who needs them. Along with law enforcement, who are on campus to ask a few people some questions – first person they want to see is…” the man looked down at the piece of paper. “Octavia Blake.”  
  
|||  
  
Octavia was lead to the principal’s office by the secretary, the woman’s boney fingers pressing into the skin of the young girl’s back, and seated in an uncomfortable metallic chair.  
  
Chief of Police Marcus Kane sat in front of her. Kane was a familiar face but not for great reasons.  
  
“Octavia.” He offered up a warm smile and a firm handshake. “How you holding up?”  
  
She shrugged her shoulders, that was a good question. She wasn’t holding up; she was scared and her emotions were pushing her down. “Fine.” She lied.  
  
Kane’s eyes lingered on her a little too long as if he was trying to read between the lines of ‘fine’ but when he saw no ounce of emotion rise from the girl, he moved behind the desk and pulled out a manila folder. “What can you tell me about Monty Green, or maybe the party on Saturday.”  
  
“I wasn’t really friends with Monty…” she started “I was at the party, so was almost every other person at this school, Kane.” Her words became a little bit hostile, this felt like a confrontation, as if he were pointing ‘she did it’ fingers.  
  
“You’re not a suspect, Octavia. This is just a formality.”  
  
She nodded, bullshit.  
  
“What about Jasper Jordan? Can you tell me anything about him? He was the last person to see Monty alive.”  
  
Octavia doubted that Jasper had anything to do with this, “They were best friends. Bell told me that Jasper drove Monty home because he was drunk.”  
  
Kane nodded, information he already knew. The chief slid the manila folder across the desk, “There are some pictures from the crime scene in there, I want you to take a look at them.”  
  
“I don’t want to … look at them, Kane.”  
  
Kane opened the folder anyways, the polaroid showed Monty Green, his face almost recognizable, frozen in an expression of fear. His clothes were tattered and blood-stained, fresh wounds underneath gave show to his insides. His body mangled and grotesquely positioned at the foot of his bed.  
  
Octavia winced and turned away.  
  
“That’s all, you’re free to go.”  
  
|||  
  
“He’s such a fucking asshole!” Octavia proclaimed into her phone. “I don’t understand why he would even show me that… it was disgusting…” Octavia shook her head trying to get the image of Monty out of it.  
  
“I know, baby. Kane lets the power get to his head, just think about during the investigation…”  
  
“He thought that Bellamy fucking did it!” Octavia’s words were red-hot.  
  
There was a moment of silence, a deep breath, “You’re still coming over, right?” Octavia asked.  
  
Lincoln nodded, “My shift ends in an hour.”  
  
“Kay, I’ll see you later. Love you.” The girl hung up. She tossed her cell phone onto the leather couch and turned her head to stare at the clock above the wall, it was eight o’clock. She had the house to herself, her uncle was away, Bellamy was with Murphy and thus, Lincoln would be spending the night. He offered to stay with Octavia and the gesture was thoroughly appreciated, there was no way she wanted to spend the night alone. Especially this night.  
  
Ding. Ding. Ding.  
Octavia swiped at her cell phone on the couch and accepted the call, “Are you calling back because I hung up without letting you say ‘I love you too’?” Octavia teased.  
  
There was a dead silence on the other end.  
  
“Lincoln?”  
  
“Who’s Lincoln?” The caller on the other end asked, the voice deep and husky, almost robotic.  
  
“Oh, sorry. I thought this was someone else.” Octavia apologized, taking the phone off her ear and looking down at it. The bright screen flashed to life, ‘unknown caller’ it read. “Who is this?”  
  
“Who do you want it to be?”  
  
Octavia didn’t understand the question, “What?”  
  
The caller side-stepped around the question, “Those pictures Kane showed you today were quite frightening, weren’t they?” The voice drew out their words, sharply pronouncing every single letter, popping their T’s, and accentuating their I’s.  
  
“How’d… how’d you know about that?”  
  
A chuckle, “It was my own work after all, forgot to sign my name at the bottom.”  
  
The words sent a shiver down Octavia’s spine, her teeth gritting against one another, “Who the fuck is this?!” She pressed the phone closer to her ear.  
  
“It’s a secret only me and Monty know. I showed him my face right before I gutted him. And you know what they say; two can keep a secret if one of them is dead!”  
  
Octavia fucking hated Pretty Little Liars.  
  
“I’m hanging up!” She threatened.  
  
“Oh no! Please don’t!” The caller mocked.  
  
Octavia found herself unable to pull away from the call, her fingers wrapped tightly around the case of her phone.  
  
“You like games, Octavia?”  
  
Octavia couldn’t find the words to reply.  
  
“I have a fun one for you!”  
  
Octavia’s face flushed, her stomach twisting and turning.  
  
“Here’s how to play, answer the question right and you live!”  
  
A pause.  
  
“Answer it wrong, and you die!”  
  
Octavia found herself forcing her feet to move. First to the front door, locking it. Then to the backdoor, already locked. She peered out the window, all she saw was darkness. Her uncle’s house was in the middle of nowhere. “Go fuck yourself!” she exclaimed.  
  
There was that same chuckle before the voice came to a halt, “How many times did I stab Monty?” Octavia felt as if the caller counted out every letter in every word before he spoke.  
  
“I don’t fucking know!” She moved into the kitchen, picking up the landline, her nimble fingers moving over the numbers nine-one-one, she was just about to dial when,  
  
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you…” The caller sang.  
  
Octavia’s neck whipped around, her hair hitting her in the face as her round eyes darted throughout the house, there was no one there. No way this guy could possibly know what she was doing. “Do what?” she asked innocently.  
  
“Do you think I’m a fucking idiot!” The voice yelled out, Octavia winced. “Put that fucking fifteen-year-old phone down you bitch.”  
  
Octavia had half the mind to call anyways, but for some reason, she complied.  
  
“Good! Now let me repeat the question: how many times did I stab Monty?”  
  
Octavia rubbed at her temples, she had no clue.  
  
“Come on, think! You looked at that picture Kane showed you… count the wounds.”  
  
The picture appeared vivid and bright in the girl’s mind, clear as day. She could notice every single stray hair on top of Monty’s head. “Nine.” She breathed out.  
  
“Congratulations!” The caller shouted, “Now next question!”  
  
Octavia stopped them, “What the fuck? You didn’t say there was another question! That’s the end of the game! Leave me alone!”  
  
“Oh sweetie… that was just the practice round. Here’s the real question: where am I?”  
  
Octavia shivered, “I don’t understand…”  
“Octavia, we both know: I’m. In. The. House. Now, tell me where.”  
  
The girl looked around, they were on the first floor. In front of her was an archway that lead from the kitchen into the living room, to the left of that room was the entranceway, to the right was the dining room. But to Octavia’s immediate left, was a closet. A closet the Blake household rarely ever stored stuff in, a closet deep enough to hold a person.  
  
The girl, moved, first grabbing a sharp knife off the kitchen island, and then in the direction of the closet. She took slow, calculated steps, staring at the off-white door a couple inches in front of her. Her beating heart slowed, begging for her not to open it, her breath stuck in her throat.  
  
One, inhale.  
  
Two, exhale.  
  
Octavia’s fingers snaked around the brass knob, she turned it slowly and then all at once, pulling towards her body. The door swung wide open and Octavia jumped back, she peered into the darkness to find,  
  
Nothing.  
  
“Wrong answer.” The caller whispered.  
  
The line cut, leaving a sharp shrieking noise on the other end causing Octavia to drop her phone to the ground, the glass shattering beneath her feet.  
  
There was a thud and then,  
  
A dark figure dressed in black, face covered in some cheap Phantom-of-The-Opera-esque mask came lunging out of the darkness and straight for Octavia. She had no idea where the fuck they came from.  
  
Octavia took off running, through wide hallways and then taking sharp zigzags into narrower hallways, she cut through an endless number of rooms. But no matter which way she went, the footsteps behind her followed. She clutched the knife to her ever beating heart.  
  
She was just about to run into the guest room and lock the door behind her when the figure ambushed her, forcing their weight upon her own. The two danced in the darkness, struggling to take control of the tangle. Octavia found herself on the floor, her head smashing against the wooden panels beneath her. The knife once in her hands slid across the room.  
  
The figure sat on her abdomen, pinning her to the floor, “Monty wasn’t very good at this game either.” They fished underneath their long black robe and pulled out a large knife that resembled one used for hunting and gutting.  
  
Octavia twitched underneath the figure’s weight, staring wide eyed at the sharp metal reflecting in the moonlight. “Please…” she mumbled, her eyes became puffy and the tears blurring her vision.  
  
“It’s not going to hurt.” A lie.  
  
The figure raised the blade above their head and was just about to penetrate their victim, when a door swung open and a voice called out into the darkness.  
  
“Octavia! I’m home!”  
  
“Bellamy!” she shrieked.  
  
The figure was caught off guard for only but a second, which Octavia used to her advantage. She mustered up the adrenaline-born strength to overtake the attacker and push them to the ground, the blade falling with them and creating a thick clanging sound.  
  
She took off running, to the left, to the right, sharp zig-zags, cutting through rooms and finding a light in the darkness.  
  
However, the footsteps followed, never tripping up, and matching her trail. Almost as if they knew this gigantic house better than she did.  
  
But, she would have to get to Bellamy first.  
  
She needed too.  
  
Octavia felt the figure’s warm breath pouring down the back of her neck, and at the last second, she hurled herself over the couch in the living room and turned the corner into the entranceway. Behind her, she could hear the figure stumble and fall to the ground, a groan and a moan.  
  
Bellamy stood in the entranceway his hands on the light switch.  
  
Octavia had never been happier to see him. She lunged at the man, pushing her freckly-faced brother into the safety of the night.  
  



	3. it's called tact, you fuck-rag.

High school kids were good at two things: getting into trouble, and spreading information faster than any high-speed wire or newscaster possibly could.  
  
It had been less than twelve hours and already the whole school was abuzz with the news of the recent attack on Octavia Blake. Gossip and misinformation ignited by inflated egos and some inner desire to appear cooler to their peers. John Murphy sat in the cafeteria, annoyed and slightly unimpressed by the scene of it all – tweets, texts, Facebook posts, all about Octavia. Some claimed the girl had survived two stab wounds, others claimed that she escaped unscathed but with a concussion. Then there were those few oddball posts that said Bellamy was the hero – fighting off the masked killer with nothing but his bare hands.  
  
John Murphy knew the truth. Bellamy told him exactly what happened, down to the last detail. There was the call, the game, the chase, the escape. In that order.  
  
When it came to Murphy, Bellamy was an authentic man who didn’t like to beat around the bush. They were entirely open with one another, there were no secrets, there were no lies. Besides, what was the point of being in a relationship if you couldn’t be your complete and total, honest self?  
  
The two had known of one another since middle school, but there wasn’t any connection back then, just a familiar face in the hallway. It wasn’t until sophomore year, in Mrs. Pollock’s chemistry class, that the fates had finally decided it was their time. A random seating chart placed Murphy and Bellamy right next to each other and from there on out it was a match. The beginning entailed of teasing and subtle one-sided flirting. It then moved onto casual hangouts and texting every single day. Then, there was that one day in the summer, the two passed the day away in a chlorine-filled pool beneath the sun’s beating heat. At night, they nestled into one another in front of a deep, crackling fire. Murphy was the one who initiated the kiss, but, Bellamy reciprocated without hesitation.  
  
Bellamy.  
  
Murphy adored the name. He loved saying it, uttering it, thinking it, moaning it.  
He loved Bellamy’s splayed mahogany hair. He loved his caramel eyes along with each and every single eyelash defending them. He loved counting the freckles upon his olive tinted skin, naming them, admiring them. He loved the way Bellamy’s fingers slid gently through the gaps of his own, completing the interlocking jigsaw puzzle that was Murphy. He loved his crooked smile, he loved his birthmark, he loved his morning breath. In simplest terms, Murphy loved Bellamy. Faults and all.  
  
“Where are you? It’s like Frankenstein’s mob in here.” Murphy sent out the text. An inside joke; whenever a group of people were being unbearably annoying, the couple would refer to them as Frankenstein’s mob.  
  
“Right here.” A voice said aloud behind Murphy.  
It was his voice. Bellamy’s.  
  
Bellamy took a seat beside the boy, placing an arm around the other’s waist and drawing him closer. “Frankenstein’s mob alright. I’ve seen the posts.” The posts were irritating, his ‘friends’ tagging him in a few along with the caption ‘is this true?’ – Was it any of their business? Every hallway Bellamy had walked down today had been packed with the rumors, groups of students clustered in corners murmuring about Octavia. Thank god she had stayed home today with Lincoln, no way would she be able to handle this attention.  
  
“How’s she doing?” Murphy turned his body to face the other. A look of genuine concern, he had grown to adore his unofficial sister-in-law.  
  
Bellamy ran a hand through his hair, eyes closed, “She’s… Octavia. She’ll get through it. Somehow.”  
  
“It’s definitely a mass murderer!” A boy at the next table whisper-shouted. Bellamy’s ears perked up. “Monty, The Blake’s mom, and now almost Octavia? Mass murderer.” He declared as if he was an expert on all things mass murder.  
  
“Are you kidding me?” A voice laughed, it was familiar. Bellamy craned his neck to see who had spoken.  
  
Jasper Jordan.  
  
Best friend of Monty Green.  
  
Jasper sported his usual brightly colored drug rug, his hair untidy and his eyes puffy. He looked like the fatigue and exhaustion set in. Jasper was undoubtedly running off fumes at this point. Maybe even an energy drink, three coffees, and a shot of booze. “It’s not a mass murderer, dummy. Have you ever read a book? A mass murderer is one who kills a lot of people with no cool-down period. Think, school shooter.” Jasper made an inappropriate finger-gun gesture and ‘pew, pew’ sound with his lips.  
  
The others kid seated at the table stared at Jasper, waiting for him to go on. They looked at him as if he was the second-coming.  
  
Jasper stood up, a visual representation of his authority over the situation. “What we’re dealing with…” a pause for dramatic effect, “is a serial killer!”  
  
There were a couple of ooh’s and ahh’s and even a hushed ‘I told you so’  
  
“Like Ted Bundy or Jeffrey Dahmer?” A girl questioned.  
  
Jasper bowed, his bug eyes gazing down at her, “You’re exactly right, young one! A serial killer kills over a period. In our case, he knocked one off a year ago.”  
  
Bellamy’s mother.  
  
Jasper’s voice fell, “… and then another this weekend…”  
  
Monty.  
  
“He almost got poor Octavia.”  
  
Bellamy’s body tensed up.  
  
“But, little O is our town’s survivor girl!” Jasper proclaimed, thrusting a sealed fist in the air.  
  
“What’s a survivor girl?” A boy asked.  
  
Jasper shook his head, “Jesus Christ do you guys know anything? A survivor girl! A girl that SURVIVES until the end of the horror movie! Come on! Jamie Lee Curtis’ character in Halloween? Anyone?”  
  
The group looked as perplexed as Bellamy did.  
  
“Well what about Bellamy? Is he a survivor boy or…” Someone else questioned.  
  
They had no clue Bellamy was five feet in front of them.  
  
Jasper took a second to process the question, “Ehh” he shrugged, “He’ll probably get gutted somewhere in the third act.”  
  
|||  
  
Octavia wavered in the doorframe, her feet hovering over the border of the room ever so slightly. It looked so different in the daylight, real and non-hostile.  
  
Nevertheless, she was attacked in this room, nearly lost her life to a man in a mask.  
  
She moved into the space, the wooden panels whining beneath her weight. She could still hear the knife crashing to the floor, its echo imprisoned in the walls. She could even swear the floor held a dent, marking where her head had smashed into.  
  
Octavia’s heart felt tense in her chest. She wondered what her mother’s bedroom would feel like to her mother, had she survived. Would it feel tight and suffocating?  
Like this room did now.  
  
Or would it feel open and free? Like a symbolic representation of a new lease on life.  
  
Octavia was sure this room would never feel the same again. She could still see the policemen with their heavy-duty boots surveying the place, their flashlights running through every corner. Investigators searching high and low for a clue as to who this attacker could have been. She could feel Kane’s grubby hand on the small of her back, reassuring her they would find the guy. But, there was no luck. After a search of the nearby woods and the entire neighborhood, the guy had vanished, like a ghost.  
  
“Hey, O.” Bellamy greeted, his voice soft and small in his throat indicating he was here and not a threat.  
  
Octavia spun to face her brother, “Hey, I was just…”  
  
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Bellamy cut her off, “Is Lincoln still here?”  
  
The girl shook her head, “No, he uh- he had a class.”  
  
There was a stillness before Bellamy grinned, “Did you eat yet?”  
  
Bellamy had always been some sort of undercover chef, sharing his cooking talent with only Octavia and hiding it from the rest of the world. He enjoyed the kitchen, treasured the tools and machines it harbored. He loved adding his own unique ingredients to recipes and making them his own. Bellamy considered himself a cheese connoisseur, in fact, his specialty: grilled cheese.  
  
Grilled cheese was Octavia’s favorite.  
  
Bread, mayonnaise, shredded cheeses. Bellamy moved through the steps with ease and came out with two sandwiches each cut into triangles just as Octavia liked. Grilled cheese was a weird Blake family thing. Their mother used to make it for them a lot, after early morning shifts they were a great afterschool snack. And when she was gone, the twins ate nothing but grilled cheese for a week – not by choice, but because their uncle’s refrigerator only had those ingredients along with half-finished beer bottles and takeout containers of Chinese food from months prior.  
  
The twins sat in the living room and as Octavia turned on the television, Bellamy took a triangle and popped it into his mouth, the cheese ripping underneath his teeth.  
  
The two sat for a while in a comfortable silence, their eyes glazing over the screen of the television. Octavia, after finishing the last triangle, dug into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. There were two unopened texts, one from Lincoln and the other from an unknown number. She slid her finger across the cracked screen.  
  
“Welcome to the game. Last night was just a preview of coming events. Telling anyone other than Bellamy about these texts will result in severe consequences. Enjoy playing ;)”  
  
The words seemed foreign to the girl, they sat in her mind for a while, her eyes gliding from left to right, reading them over and over again. Each time her fingers would grip the phone a little tighter.  
  
“O... you okay?” Bellamy turned to her, but she barely acknowledged him, her eyes glued to the screen before her.  
  
He slid the device out of her hands and held it between his own, he read the same text and a fuse went off in his head. He repeated the same motion Octavia had, digging his phone out of his pocket and sliding his finger across the screen.  
  
There was that text from the night of the party, the one that Bellamy completely ignored. He held the two phones side by side, their light reflecting off one another.  
  
Aloud he read the text sent to him, “You love helping, Bellamy. But you can’t help everyone. You can’t save everyone.”  
  
Octavia was the girl he couldn’t save.  
  
|||  
  
Octavia was horrified of going into school today. It’s harsh and merciless halls would jab and dig at every wound. Kids would ask her about things she didn’t want to talk about; despite all those idiotic online posts being suffocated by a newscaster who discussed the attack on the seven o’clock news.  
  
She braced herself for impact as she pushed open the red entranceway doors, the icy conditioned air wrestled with the warm June air. The inside of the school was a dull quiet, not a single soul wandering the halls. The principal had given her a pass to come in late and leave early if she wished.  
  
Octavia adjusted the bag upon her shoulder and began her walk to her first class.  
  
She felt like her freshman self on the first day of school. The bigger kids pushing past the small girl who had no idea where she was supposed to be going. “Can someone show me where E221 is?” She chirped, but her voice was killed by the scuffle of footsteps and a loud ‘you going to the game this Friday?’  
  
“Octavia!” A voice at the end of the hall called towards her. Octavia spun on her heels and was met by the warm face of,  
  
Raven Reyes.  
  
Raven was a girl that the entire student body knew or knew of. She had a stint in almost every clique that walked the school. Jocks: soccer, freshman year. Nerds: president of the sophomore executive committee. Mean Girls: beginning of junior year. Now she was hanging with the stoners and tech geeks – but mostly because she was dating Jasper Jordan.  
  
Octavia had to admit, Raven was gorgeous. She had always been a little jealous of her looks since the first time they met – at Lincoln’s house for a family cookout; the two were cousins. Raven had long dark brunette hair tied up in a sloppy bun, her bronzed skin a shade lighter than Lincoln’s. Her eyes commanded attention, she spoke effortlessly and with a grace Octavia had never heard anywhere else.  
  
“You doing okay?” Raven asked, her glossy lips parted ever so slightly. She placed a dainty hand on Octavia’s bicep and rubbed it up and down before gifting her with a firm squeeze.  
  
Octavia opened her mouth to speak but the words were lost, she nodded instead.  
  
Raven gazed at her for a while, as if she could force more than just a nod to rise but when Octavia remained silent - Raven spun her back on her heels and proclaimed she would escort her to class. “If you ever need anything, me and Jasper are here for you. Okay?” She pulled Octavia into an embrace.  
  
Octavia stood there with the girl’s arms enfolded around her. A girl she had spoken too fewer than five times. But, for some reason Octavia couldn’t explain, she felt secure in the hug. As if she could open herself up to Raven – reveal every part of her.  
  
And that was a great feeling to have in this overhead moment of darkness.  
  
|||  
  
‘Leila’s Coffee Shop’ was one of Bellamy’s favorite places in the shitty, small town of Aurora. The charming, petite coffee shop was situated on the outer edge of town. Maybe that’s why he loved it so much – it was as far away as he could possibly get. Inside, the shop featured artwork by local artists, pastry recipes submitted by customers, and drink names coined by kids in the elementary school. Tall bookshelves, made of cherry wood, stored hundreds of books that Bellamy desired to read all one day.  
  
“Here’s your Strawberry Summer, prince.” Murphy sat a cold a mug in front of Bellamy and then took a seat at the round table.  
“Thanks.” Bellamy took a sip. It did taste like strawberries, and summer.  
  
Murphy took sips of his own drink in-between reading the book held in his hands – ‘Misery’ by Stephen King - completely unaware of Bellamy’s staring eyes. This was a normal occurrence; Bellamy would just watch Murphy while he was doing completely ordinary things. He had noticed that sometimes Murphy would bite on the skin of his lips while he read, or he would pick at the palm of his hands while they watched television. No matter what the two were doing, Murphy would always look so deep in thought. Bellamy wondered what he was thinking about, wishing he could get a glimpse inside that magnificent little mind he adored so much.  
  
“Why is Bryan here?” Murphy wondered aloud, his eyes gazing over at the front counter where footballer Bryan stood, looking up at the menu.  
  
Bellamy shrugged, “Probably trying out the Strawberry Summer.”  
  
Murphy turned back to Bellamy, “Wanna hear a funny story about Bryan?”  
  
The other boy nodded and leaned in closer.  
  
Murphy folded the page he was on to mark his place, then closed the book and laid it gently on the table. “Back when he was a senior and I was a sophomore, he would send me pictures of his dick like… all the time.” Murphy made an obscene movement with his hands to show how big Bryan’s penis was.  
  
Bellamy shot his boyfriend a perplexed, ‘why are you telling me this?’ look.  
  
“Funny thing was, whenever he saw me in the hallways at school, he and his other football friends would y’know, call me a faggot and stuff. But at night, he would send me nudes and ask me to suck his cock.” Murphy shrugged and picked his book back up and continued reading.  
  
Bellamy sat there for a second, confused, bewildered, and at a loss for words. Right when he was about to say something, Murphy broke out in a bright laughter, “I’m literally fucking with you!” the words came out in-between breaths.  
  
Bellamy reached over the table and gave his boyfriend a playful shove on the shoulder, “That wasn’t funny.”  
  
“It was, and you believed me!” Murphy snickered.  
  
The other boy sat there in a thin smile before breaking out in laughter along with Murphy.  
  
A laugh.  
  
Bellamy couldn’t remember the last time he laughed since Monty was murdered.  
  
But it felt good. To not be scared. To not worry about Octavia.  
  
So, Bellamy Blake and John Murphy, sat together in love, laughing over fake nudes and penis size jokes.


	4. you're the dumb blonde with the big tits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> henlo lemme know what you guys think of the story so far!!! and if you guys already have killer theories/conspiracies i'd be more than glad to hear them ;)

Clarke Griffin released her ash blonde hair from its tight ponytail, allowing it to freely sit on her shoulders. Adorned on her hairline was a black Nike headband that matched her wristbands. She wiped away at the sweat on her forehead, waved goodbye to her friends and pushed open the doors of the gymnasium – stepping into the after-hour halls of the school. Volleyball practice. Well not technically, the season was long over. But, her and her team enjoyed getting together and practicing every so often to prep for next year. She didn’t necessarily need to attend these gatherings, for it was her last year of high school and thus she wouldn’t be on the team next year – but it was hard for to let go so easily.  
  
The five-foot-five tall girl strolled through the vacant hall, her sneakers squishing against the floor tile. Every so often she would adjust the shoulder strap of her duffel back filled with sweaty clothes and a spare outfit she probably shouldn’t store together.  
  
Left turn.  
  
She hummed a song, nodding her head along to the rhythm.  
  
Up a flight of stairs.  
  
She hummed a little louder, the tempo picking up.  
  
Bum, bum, bum.  
  
Right turn.  
  
She tapped her hand against the duffel back, its fabric rippling beneath her touch. Hmm. Hmm. Hmm.  
  
E221.  
  
She stood outside the classroom. Her song halting in her throat when a man spoke from inside.  
  
“My men are completely dumb-founded, Abby.”  
  
“There are no leads? At all?”  
  
“None. Not a single lick of evidence at Monty’s. Or at the Blake’s house. We’re at a dead end.”  
  
“Oh, Kane.”  
  
Clarke cocked her head ever so slightly, her eyes peering through the small glass window implanted in the wooden door. Inside the room she could see her mother, Abby Griffin comforting Marcus Kane. It was a sight that Clarke had seen plenty of times before, her mother and the chief of police were dating.  
  
The couple shared a goodbye kiss before Kane turned on his heels and headed towards the door. Clarke hastily took a step back and looked down at her phone, pretending to fiddle with it. Kane opened the door, the air in the room slapped her in the face.  
  
“Clarke.” Kane acknowledged.  
  
“Kane! I didn’t see you there.” A lie.  
  
“I was just on my way out.”  
  
Clarke nodded and slipped into the classroom as Kane exited.  
  
“What was that about?” The blonde girl inquired.  
  
“Nothing.” Her mother responded. A lie.  
  
Abby Griffin was a tall, slender woman. A teacher at the high school. She was a woman who glowed with authority, the fine wrinkles on her forehead was a sign of her wisdom. “How was practice?” She asked, crossing over to the chalkboard before scrubbing off the day’s work with a dusty eraser.  
  
Clarke shrugged, “Why should I tell you? You won’t tell me what you and Kane were talking about.”  
  
“Clarke.” The woman exhaled, “Not that it’s any of your business, but Marcus and I were discussing the investigation.”  
  
The teenager took a seat at one of the desks, laying her duffel bag on the floor beside her. “And?”  
  
Abby set the eraser down, “It’s not looking good.”  
  
Clarke thought of Monty Green who she had been seated next too during their junior year in some technology class Clarke hated. Their last names were right next to each other on the roster, and there for the two were partnered up in almost every project. Clarke would sit there while Monty would do most of the work. Not because she didn’t want to do her share, but because Monty had some natural affinity for that sort of thing and who was Clarke to interfere?  
  
She thought of some heinous man stabbing Monty Green nine times, who was already dead after the third time. Then, she shuddered at the thought, and turned back to her mother, “You think they’ll ever find him?” Her jungle green eyes staring up at her.  
  
Abby titled her head to the side, gently pushing a strand of blonde hair away from her daughter’s eyes. Her lips fell into a frown that contradicted the optimism in her voice, “We can only hope.”  
  
|||  
  
Octavia hated herself for coming back here.  
  
The room still looked the same. Its thick walls painted a deep shade of brown. The floors mimicking the wall’s color in its stained wood. The desk and the bookcases were wooden too, the same wood. Everything cut from the same tree. On top of the desk were familial pictures that Octavia stared at when she didn’t want to make eye contact with the woman. She would stare into the picture, imagining the life the smiling couple shared with their one child. Did the husband ever wake up in the morning and make breakfast, just cause? Probably not. The two were busy with their careers. Octavia remembered that detail for, the other woman sometimes went off on a tangent about her own life.  
  
Octavia’s therapist smiled at her. She was a professional woman, dressed in a grey pantsuit. Her hair short, in tight curls. Her skin, the color of a deep, dark mineral.  
  
Doctor.  
  
Although, the girl never referred to her as ‘doctor’ despite the diplomas hung up on the wall. The two were on a first name basis: Indra.  
  
“It’s understandable that you wanted to see me again. The recent events are… triggering, no?”  
  
Octavia nodded, running a hand through her hair to push the stray strands away from her eyes.  
  
Indra stared at her moment. It was that same stare everyone had been given her, that ‘when are you going to crack under all this?’ stare. Octavia hated it when people looked at her like that, she was only a human thrown under severe circumstances. Anyone else who was going through what she was going through would feel the same way. Of course, her emotions would be all over the place. Of course, she’d be agitated and jumpy. Of course, her mind would wander.  
  
She wasn’t a fragile girl. She was strong. Emboldened by her past. But, sometimes she needed some help. Some tape to mend the fractures.  
  
“Were you and Monty close?” Indra questioned, crossing one leg over the other, holding a pen and notepad in her lap. Her cocked head and wide eyes made Octavia feel like she was being interrogated by Kane all over again.  
  
“I knew him.”  
  
Indra barely gave Octavia a chance to breathe before she asked the next question, “And his murder is similar to your mother’s?”  
  
“Yeah It’s- “  
  
“You’re afraid.” Indra stated matter-of-factly.  
  
“Wouldn’t you be too?”  
  
Octavia didn’t know what to make of the sly smile tugging at Indra’s lips, “This isn’t about me.”  
  
“Just answer the question: if your mother was murdered and they never found the guy who did it. Then, a year later some guy you know is murdered in the same way. Then, a few days after that, you almost get butchered in your own home… would you not be afraid?”  
  
Indra took a moment to process the question, her eyes turning up to the ceiling before coming back down to stare through Octavia, “Yes. I would be.”  
  
Octavia leaned further back into the leather couch, “I keep thinking… y’know, what if I didn’t make it out that night… what if Bellamy came home a minute too late and found me…”  
  
“Like how you found your mother.” Indra didn’t understand the phrase ‘tread lightly’, she ripped open wounds like it was a brand-new box of her favorite cereal.  
  
“Like how I found my mother.” Octavia repeated, her eyes glossing over with a teary film.  
  
Indra passed a box of tissues before scribbling something down on her note-pad, “It’s clear to see that these recent events are forcing you to recall traumatic memories, Octavia. We’re going to put you back on the medication you were taking before, but in a lower dosage.”  
  
She stood and Octavia followed. The woman escorted the girl out of her office with a gentle hand on her back. When Octavia was behind the door-frame, Indra breathed in, “Octavia…” she started.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Indra shook her head back-and-forth. Her brows furrowed as a look of kind concern spread through her face. Her eyes met Octavia’s, she peered into them like they were crystal balls, “You’re a survivor.”  
  
|||  
  
Bellamy put the car in park and yanked the key out of the ignition. A breeze blew through the open window and warmed his face, his eyes blurred in the bright sunlight. For some reason, he couldn’t remember the drive here. His mind had gone blank, the wires and powerlines in his brain snapping and sparking with a thousand thoughts all at once. Maybe his head wanted to spare him the pain they too, were trying to process.  
  
His feet moved gradually through the freshly-mowed grass. He came here a lot, whenever he wanted to talk to someone and not have them interrupt, just listen. Another breeze came, shaking the trees which gave birth to a bustle of pollen.  
  
The cemetery was a beautiful place: the well-manicured lawn, the striking trees with their branching arms, the bouquet of lively flowers left as gifts for the dead. But, at the same time, it was haunting. Only six feet below his Doc Martens were decomposing corpses being chewed on by maggots and the Earth.  
  
He took a seat in front of his mother’s gravestone.  
  
‘Here lies Aurora Blake, wife, mother.’  
  
She was named after the town she was born in, grew up in.  
  
She was named after the town that destroyed her, killed her.  
  
Bellamy’s eyes glazed over the dates of her birth and death – it was so strange. Within that array of numbers separated by a hyphen was an entire life that Bellamy would never know; would never truly come to understand. There were some forty odd years of Aurora Blake’s life and Bellamy was only able to see the final fifteen of it.  
  
Behind him, a crow cried, its wings outstretched in the wind. With a single flap, the bird began its ascent, enveloping its arms around itself before shooting off into the wind like a missile.  
  
The boy adjusted the gray beanie that covered the mess that was his hair before he pulled his legs into his chest, his head resting ever so gently on his knees. Bellamy didn’t know where to begin, his brow furrowed, deep lines appearing on forehead, “Hey, ma…” he spoke softly, his words wobbly.  
  
“I found one of those books you used to read me, those fairytales…” His favorite was ‘Sleeping Beauty’ although now it was a little grim, both the protagonist of the tale and his mother were both named Aurora. But, his mother would sleep forever. There was no waking up from this tale.  
  
“I really miss you… a lot.” Bellamy thought about the month he spent at summer camp as a child, how he cried most nights because he missed his mother. When he returned, he announced that he would no longer go to camp – and that was the end of that.  
  
“It’s been rough.” His voice was low as he patted his eyes dry with the palm of his hands. “Octavia’s not handling everything well. And she won’t let me in. She has too much pride. I think she gets that from you.” Bellamy chuckled.  
  
Bellamy breathed, “Uncle John’s doing okay, he’s been out of town for work.”  
  
He shook his head, “I don’t know what to do, ma. Someone wants O dead, and I don’t know what to do. I get so… scared. That every time I turn my back, or shut my eyes that she’s just gonna be… gone. I barely sleep anymore. I slept through that night that you… I just wish that I was awake… that I heard something.”  
  
“It’s unfair. That she has to go through this, again. Or that, that Monty kid got dragged into this.” Bellamy’s words started to feel hot in his throat, “I’m going to find the guy who did this.” He declared, his eyes turning away from his mother’s stone.  
  
Bellamy’s nose flared, his jaw clenched – his bicuspids grinding into his molars. There was a sudden shift in the air, the warm June air felt cold to Bellamy. The boy tightened his fist, a swift rage took over his body as his nails dug into the palm of his hand, “And when I find him…”  
  
The trees above him shivered with anticipation. Deep dark pools formed in his eyes, he spoke with a passion he never felt before. Bellamy’s voice was rough and husky in his throat: “I’m going to kill him.”  
  
|||  
  
Clarke Griffin pulled open the red entranceway doors of the school, she was greeted by the never-ending day of the summer season. Parked in front was Lexa, her girlfriend.  
  
Clarke climbed into the car, she threw her duffel bag in the back-seat before turning back around to her girlfriend with a smile and a ‘hey’ – the two shared a kiss.  
  
Lexa was a thing of pure beauty: something only a god, that possessed the power and artistic skill, could craft. She matched Clarke’s height at five-foot-five, her legs long and perfectly proportioned to the rest of her body. She had walnut brown hair that always smelled of coconuts. Her skin was warm, pink undertones complemented her rosy cheeks. Her cheekbones were high, and only rose in height every time she flashed a smile – her mouth housed textbook, snow white teeth. But, Clarke’s favorite thing about Lexa were her eyes. It seemed as if they could never settle on a color, sometimes an emerald green, other times they were a clean-summer’s-lake blue, but most times, they roared with the fire of Autumn leaves.  
  
“How was practice?” Lexa asked, the car jumped to life with the turn of her key.  
  
“It was good.” Clarke breathed, securing herself into the seat by plugging in the seatbelt. “Kane was there when I got out.”  
  
“He’s still doing interviews?”  
  
Clarke shook her head, “He was talking to my mom. About the investigation.”  
  
Lexa met her gaze for only a second before turning her eyes back to the road.  
  
“There are no lead suspects, no evidence.” Clarke continued.  
  
“Poor Monty.” Lexa pouted, “He’s not going to get any justice… just like the twin’s mom. Have you seen Octavia or Bellamy?”  
  
“No. Ever since we fell off it’s like they take different routes to class just to avoid me. They hate me.”  
  
“Don’t say that.” Lexa took her right hand off the steering wheel to give her girlfriend a reassuring squeeze on the thigh. “You guys used to be really good friends.”  
  
“Key words: used to.”  
  
“They probably want to talk to you as much as you want to talk to them. God knows that they need someone to talk too about all this murder stuff.” The word ‘murder’ was a low whisper.  
  
There was a silence as Clarke thought about the Blake twins. The three of them used to be inseparable – friends since the diaper days. She thought of the first day of high-school, how the three of them stayed up late the night before wondering what it was going to be like, promising each other they would stay friends no matter what.  
  
That promise didn’t last.  
  
Clarke thought about the summer nights they shared, riding their bikes and going on adventures. They would explore the abandoned parts of Aurora and then, they would fall asleep underneath the stars. She thought of all the secrets and tears they had shared with each other. How the twins had helped her through the divorce and how Octavia claimed that “now, we all don’t have dads.” And for some reason, that one line seemed to make everything a little better.  
  
Then, she thought about the last few things the trio shared together. The excitement of getting their permits and licenses, their applications to their first jobs, the stories of their first dates. She thought of Bellamy, who talked about much he liked Murphy. Clarke urged him to get closer, stating that “you guys would look so cute together!”  
  
She was glad they got together, and they do look cute together.  
  
Finally, Clarke thought about the murder and she wished she could hug the twins – but at this point, they were no longer friends. She watched them at the funeral, wanting to say something, but coming up with nothing. So, Clarke stood in the back of the crowd as they buried her second mother.  
  
“Just talk to them.” Lexa encouraged.  
  
“It’s not that easy.”  
  
Lexa eased down on the brakes as they came to a stop sign, she turned half of her body to stare into Clarke’s eyes.  
  
Clarke met her gaze for a second, there was that usual ‘take my advice and shut up’ look on Lexa’s face. Clarke breathed, the corners of her lips turned downward as she pressed her forehead to the glass of the window. “My dad practically ruined their life.”


	5. one generation's tragedy is the next one's joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long!! i'm a rat who hated the initial draft of the chapter and took days rewriting it. i'll try to have a more consistent updating schedule from now on :-)

Ding. Ding. Ding.  
  
Bellamy squinted as the sunlight flooded through his window and drew him from his slumber. He reached his arms into the air and stretched out his drowsy muscles before letting out a deep yawn that shook his body and ended in a cold shiver.  
  
Ding. Ding. Ding.  
  
He felt… better. For lack of a better word. His one-way conversation with his mother had eased some of his troubles and his mind felt fresh and new. It was the greatest therapy he could get without access to Octavia’s therapist and her medicine.  
  
Ding. Ding. Ding.  
  
The vibrations of his phone nearly caused it to rock off the edge of his nightstand and tumble to the ground. Bellamy swiped at the device, unlocking it with his fingerprint before bringing it closer to his face. There were some new emails, text messages from Murphy, Facebook notifications and a photo message from an,  
  
Unknown number.  
  
Bellamy swallowed his breath, his finger hovering over the text thread. He stared at the message, just begging to be opened, for what felt like an eternity. His eyes refused to blink, afraid that if they did another message would pop up, or worse, a call. His body stayed motionless, paralyzed in fear of what laid underneath his finger.  
  
The boy licked at the skin of his lips before bringing his finger down on the screen, opening the text thread as if he were ripping a Band-Aid off a fresh wound. The photo was of something very familiar: the lush field adorned with flowers and surrounded by trees.  
  
The cemetery.  
  
It was his mother’s, now defaced, headstone, red spray paint covered her name: Whore. The picture had to have been taken right after Bellamy was there: the sun hadn’t set yet.  
  
There was a heat rising in Bellamy, a heat that only came when he felt violated and helpless. His eyebrows dropped as his eyes glared at the screen before him – a grating, crunching sound followed: his teeth grinding against one another as his jaw tightened. The only question he could ask was - why? Why was this man, this killer, mocking the dead. It wasn’t enough to kill his mother, now they had to add salt to the wound – to defile her name even in the afterlife.  
  
Soon however, Bellamy found his anger quickly washed over with a sadness. The photo started to blur as his eyes began watering. It was those tears that came when you get so angry that your body can’t deal with everything racing around in your head. Bellamy dabbed at the tears with the edge of his blanket before throwing his phone down on his bed. The boy stood, his blood rushing from his head to the rest of his body. He paced around the room for a while, letting his thoughts seep into his muscles. This is exactly what that guy wanted, he wanted a reaction from Bellamy. He wanted Bellamy to know he was being watched – to know that he knew Bellamy better than Bellamy knew Bellamy.  
  
This wasn’t just two sloppy murders orchestrated by a psychopath. It was much larger than that: it’s a game, and an intricate plan being exacted by a man with a vengeance.  
  
A man who wanted to punish the Blake twins.  
  
Punish them for what? Bellamy had no idea.  
  
|||  
  
Marcus Kane stood at their door, the morning sun behind him distorted his reflection in the glass. He brought his knuckles down in a swift, striking manner, alerting the twins to his presence.  
  
A moment passed before Octavia opened the door. Her hair was tossed up in a bun, she was wearing an outfit similar to the one he had questioned her in – sweatpants. A bag was strung across lazily upon her shoulder. Behind her, Kane could see Bellamy seated at the kitchen island his gaze divided between the entranceway and the waffle he was shoving into his mouth.  
  
“Morning, glad I caught you before you made it to school.” He said, his boots grinding into the welcome mat below his feet. “Mind if I come in? There’s something I need to discuss with you both.”  
  
Kane grasped at an invitation Octavia hadn’t yet offered and inserted himself into the space of the Blake home. The girl closed the door behind the man before shouting out to her brother, “Bellamy, Kane’s here.” The words came out through the fakest warm smile Octavia could muster up at 6:30 in the morning.  
  
Bellamy moved from the kitchen into the entranceway, “Kane.” He acknowledged, “What do you need?”  
  
Kane’s head turned slightly to his left and then to his right, peering into other rooms and moving his gaze up the stairwell, examining every ounce of the house – almost as if he were searching for a hidden crime scene or, even better, a corpse. Kane made a show of adjusting his belt and holster, his thumbs digging into the waistband and pulling them up, “My men found something, that I… personally, would like you two to know about.”  
  
The twins shared a quick look – they already knew what Kane’s men had found: their mother’s defaced headstone. Bellamy had shown the text message to Octavia and the two had already braced themselves for the school day with its relentless questions and Facebook tags.  
  
“What did they find, Kane?” Octavia asked innocently, her brows furrowed as her head cocked ever so slightly – she had always been the best at lying and faking interest.  
  
“You two may want to sit down.” Kane gestured to the living room, his fingers pointing at their couch, “Please.” He whispered, as if he were doing them a favor by delivering this news with them sitting down.  
  
The twins took the seats requested of them and looked up at Kane with a ‘tell us, we’re ready’ face.  
  
Kane positioned his hands on his hips, his eyes gazing through the twins. Although they were nearing adulthood now, the twins still looked like the small children he had once known them to be. There was a time long ago when Kane had thought of the twins as his niece and nephew.  
  
Kane was a new employee on the police force, and their mother had been one of his oldest friends. The two had practically grown up together, they shared similar troubles in the small town of Aurora, their fathers worked at the same shoe factory and were both devastated when it closed. They went through high school together - he had dated her friends, she dated his. And despite always dreaming of getting out of Aurora, the two were tethered to the land, finding themselves in situations where they could never leave. When the twins were born, she promised herself they would never have to live the life she lived, that her troubles were her troubles and would not become theirs.  
  
But, through a sick twist, her troubles did become theirs – for her plights were bound to become theirs, it was like an inheritance but instead of money they got a lousy reputation. Aurora had asked Kane to be their godfather, he was humbled, but denied. Believing he would never be competent enough to be able to handle her children if something happened to her.  
  
Nights after her murder, Kane found himself wishing that he had accepted her offer. That maybe in some world the twins would be his god-children now, and he would do his damn best to make sure they got out of Aurora – just like he promised her a long time ago.  
  
He became devastated after he lost her. His bones ached and his heart throbbed with a heated anger, a passionate desire to find her murderer. There were times when he had even begun to point fingers at Bellamy. His whole ‘I was asleep and didn’t hear my mother being brutally murdered’ excuse had always rubbed Kane the wrong way. Kane knew it was terribly wrong and cruel, but sometimes he had wished that Bellamy was the one who got attacked instead of Aurora. It was a horrible, morbid thought – to wish death on a, then, seventeen-year-old child. But he couldn’t help it. His mind had slipped in those days; he had gone to terrible places and his eyes had taken sights of things he had never wanted to see.  
  
He had loved her in some way. And now, he was reminded of her every time he saw the twins. Octavia had her cheekbones, Bellamy had her eyes. Octavia, her pride. Bellamy, her protective nature. They were all that was left of her.  
  
The chief of police cleared his throat, “Your mother’s gravestone” he started, his voice drawing out the words so he could let the recipients of the information fully process, “Was spray painted, sometime last night, with obscene language.”  
  
Octavia shook her head, her eyes blinking rapidly as she brought an olive hand up to her mouth to cover her fake gasp, “Oh my god.” She mumbled, “Do you know who did it?” She already knew the answer.  
  
No one knew.  
  
Kane shook his head somberly, “My men have gone over the footage, they were unable to make out who it could’ve been. Although...” there was an immediate change in Kane’s tone and Bellamy tensed for he already knew the table was about to turn, “Bellamy. You were on the footage. You visited last night, correct?”  
  
Bellamy had to stop himself from rolling his eyes, “Yes. I visit my mother sometimes, didn’t know that was a crime.”  
  
“It isn’t. Was just curious to know if you had seen any suspicious activity? The perpetrator arrived not very much later after you were gone.”  
  
The boy shook his head, “No.”  
  
Kane nodded, his eyes never leaving Bellamy’s, “Very well then.” He made a goodbye gesture with his head and started towards the door. He was just about to let himself out when one of his pockets began to vibrate. Kane excused himself to take a phone call in the next room.  
  
Octavia scooted closer to her brother, her voice was a low whisper, “We have to tell him. About the text.”  
  
“No way! Are you crazy?!” Bellamy whisper-yelled, “Whoever’s doing this is fucking crazy, I’m not gonna make him mad by getting the police involved.”  
  
“The police can track the texts!” Octavia argued.  
  
“You really think this guy is dumb enough to text us knowing that they could be traced?” It was an honest question.  
Octavia shrugged, “Maybe. We got nothing. No leads. No fucking clue as to who’s harassing us – this is our best shot.”  
“No.” The word was firm in Bellamy’s throat, “I’m not risking it. I’m not putting you at risk.”  
  
“Fine.” Octavia puffed, crossing her arms over her chest and moving back to her original position on the couch, “We’ll just let this guy screw with us.”  
  
Bellamy rubbed at frustrated temples, “This is a game, O. We have to play by his rules.”  
  
|||  
  
“It’s Wednesday!” Murphy beamed as he joined Bellamy who had his hands deep in his locker, searching for a misplaced book.  
  
Wednesdays were a tradition for the couple – there was a deal at the movie theater where tickets were discounted. So, the two had made a thing about seeing a movie every Wednesday night.  
  
Bellamy shook his head, he didn’t want to disappoint Murphy but now wasn’t the best time to go to the movies, “I don’t know, Murph” he started, shoving a book into his bag, “I don’t want to leave Octavia alone tonight.”  
  
Murphy’s expression dimmed, his bright smile replaced by a dull frown, his eyes turned upwards as he bit at a patch of skin on his lips – it was a look Bellamy had seen many times, a look that Bellamy hated causing. “It’s Wednesday.” Murphy repeated, this time with less emotion, “We always go out on Wednesday.” His words were soft in contrast to the roar of the crowded hallway.  
  
They had first gone to the movies on Wednesday sometime early junior year. The movie they saw was some dumb kid movie about kids with weird powers stuck in a world war or something. Bellamy couldn’t remember because he was too busy focusing on Murphy’s lips and how his tongue tasted like extra buttered popcorn. There was also the fact that, somewhere near the end of the film, the two had made off to the bathroom for some sloppy hand jobs in a stall.  
  
“Octavia’s a big girl – she can take care of herself.” Murphy stated. Bellamy wondered if he would think differently if he knew about the texts. But Murphy would never know about the texts, that was a secret for just him and Octavia.  
  
“I’m sorry, babe.” It was all Bellamy could conjure up. He was sorry. Sorry that his life had gone to shit in the span of five days. Sorry that a masked murderer wouldn’t leave his family alone. Sorry that he was going to have to push Murphy away for his own safety.  
  
Murphy took a step closer towards his freckled-face boyfriend, he put on his best puppy dog eyes and let his lips droop into an exaggerated frown, “Puh-leeaaase” he mumbled, his hands wrapping around the taller boy. Murphy nuzzled his head into the crook of Bellamy’s neck, Bellamy squirmed underneath the public display of affection – he could already feel eyes beginning to wander towards the two.  
  
Bellamy gave into temptation, “Alright, fine.” He smiled as Murphy pulled away, his face roaring with a light he hadn’t seen in a while. Bellamy closed his locker and intertwined his fingers with Murphy’s, “I’ll have to find a babysitter for Octavia.” He teased.  
  
“Bellamy.” A voice behind him chirped out. It was a voice that, during his childhood, Bellamy had grown accustomed to hearing. It was a warm voice that had talked Bellamy off the edge countless times. A voice that had been Bellamy’s light at the end of the tunnel. A voice that Bellamy had started to forget over the last two years, but it was back, loud and vivid in his ears.  
  
“Clarke.” Bellamy breathed, she looked different – more mature now. The last time they had talked in person was the fight they had that ended their friendship. That fight was nearly two years ago. Now Clarke was a distant memory, a figure that blended into the thousands in the hall. Her golden blonde hair was shorter now, she had cut it. Her emerald green eyes held the same expression Bellamy’s did – a wonder – a ‘oh my God, you look so different now’.  
  
“This is… weird.” Clarke chuckled, “And kind of dumb.” Clarke spoke as if she was in a rush, tripping on her words a couple of times. She dug into her bag and pulled out a canvas. “But I just wanted you to have this.” She handed a canvas over to Bellamy.  
  
Bellamy stared down at the gift in his hands. It was a portrait that Clarke had drawn for an art class sophomore year, it depicted the trio – Clarke, Bellamy, and Octavia – smiling. The details and realism of the drawing tugged at Bellamy’s heart. Clarke had a natural affinity for art – perfectly capturing their friendship at their purest and happiest.  
  
Bellamy could still remember that day.  
  
“Do not take drawing and painting.” Clarke warned as she tied her hair up into a sloppy bun.  
  
“Wasn’t planning on it.” Bellamy’s boots treaded on a leaf, it’s ginger and blaze red streaks torn apart beneath him. Autumn was setting in. It was the beginning of their freshman year – Halloween was only a few days away. This time of the year, the trio liked to walk home from school instead of taking the bus.  
  
“Why?” Octavia asked, “The teacher’s a bitch?”  
  
Clarke shook her head, “She gave us our final project early so we could start working on it – I have no idea what I’m going to do.”  
  
“Draw something?” Bellamy’s sarcasm had always annoyed Clarke, she rolled her eyes at him.  
  
“Thanks, asshole.” She teased.  
  
“What’s the project?” The Blake sister asked, pushing herself closer towards Clarke to make space for an elderly woman on the sidewalk.  
  
“Portraits. Self-portraits. Shading, details, realism. All of it.” Clarke responded.  
  
“Draw us!” Octavia suggested brightly, “All three of us. Give me bigger boobs.”  
  
“Give her a smaller forehead, hers is huge.” Bellamy lightly slapped the back of his hand against his sister’s forehead, she swatted his hand away.  
  
Clarke could only smile – she would love to draw her friends, to encapsulate them on paper and immortalize the people she cared most about.  
  
The drawing would take months. There was the initial session where the twins posed for a while. Octavia would get distracted and go off and watch TV or text. Then there were dark nights where Clarke would stare at reference pictures and figure out how to make her pencils do what she needed them too. There were frustrations, blood, sweat, and literal tears. At one point, Clarke had destroyed the canvas and forced herself to start anew. But, it all came together in the end. One of Clarke’s most cherished works: it earned her an A+ on the final. But when the trio collapsed, the piece would sit in the back of her closet – she’d look at it sometimes, yearning for those days again.  
  
“I forgot about this.” Bellamy never took his eyes off the charcoal lines. A part of him wanted nothing more than to have Clarke back in his life. But their time had passed, their friendship had been broken over something that was out of their own control. A decision they didn’t choose to make. “Thank you. This means a lot.” It was true.  
  
“Yeah. No problem.” Clarke smiled and turned on her heels.  
  
Bellamy wanted to say something else, to call out to her, to tell her he had missed her, to ask her to hang out sometime.  
  
But, she was gone in the blink of an eye. Disappearing into the blur of students.  
  
|||  
  
Sure, it was a game. But, Octavia didn’t want to play.  
  
The girl adjusted the strap of her bag as she moved into the crowded cafeteria, crossing through paths and tables, pushing past people with their staring eyes and low, rumor-filled, whispers. Octavia would only need to endure high school for one more week, then it would all be over. All the rumors, all the drama, all the high school pettiness.  
  
But, first, she would of course need to survive a masked murderer’s killing spree.  
  
Octavia’s feet moved a little quicker, she took sharper turns as she hurriedly tried to get to where she needed to be. She threw out annoyed ‘excuse me’s as she squeezed between tiny freshman. After navigating past a final herd of jocks, she finally made it to the table – her eyes falling upon Raven Reyes holding hands with Jasper Jordan. Octavia took a seat beside the girl, plopping her bag down on the seat beside her, “What do you guys know about tracking unknown numbers?” she spoke without hesitation.  
  
Octavia was going against her brother. Something she had only ever done once before.  
  
Sometime early sophomore year, Bellamy was friends with a boy named Atom. Octavia had a slight crush on him, to say the least, and the feelings were reciprocated. But Atom, was a player and Octavia was a game he had not yet tried out. Bellamy warned her of his ways, and forced Octavia to promise her that she would stay away.  
  
She broke that promise.  
  
The two dated in secret for a little while, but long story short, Atom cheated.  
  
There was night when Bellamy walked in on Octavia crying in her room, and after finding out what had happened, Bellamy said only one thing to her: “I thought I could trust you.”  
  
Those words haunted Octavia, they found refuge in her mind and refused to leave. No matter how many times Octavia apologized to Bellamy, he didn’t accept. It wasn’t the fact that Octavia dated Atom – it was the fact that Bellamy was looking out for her, as he always did, and she got hurt because she didn’t listen.  
  
From then on out, Octavia promised herself that she would start listening to Bellamy more. But with this situation, she simply could not agree with her brother. She would have to go against him.  
  
Raven looked up at Octavia with startled eyes, her fingers slowly pulling away from Jasper’s, “Unknown numbers?”  
  
Octavia nodded, “Yeah… some guy keeps sending…” she took a second to think of a lie, “prank texts like ‘I have your nudes’ and ‘Send me a tit pic’ y’know the usual.”  
  
Raven shook her head, no she did not know.  
  
Octavia ran a desperate hand through her bronze hair “I just want to find out who it is.”  
  
“We can help, Jasper taught me everything I know.” Raven exchanged a smile with her boyfriend.  
  
“Cool! Tonight?” Octavia inquired, this needed to be done as soon as possible.  
  
“Sur-“  
  
Jasper interrupted, “I can’t. Mom’s got me on a strict curfew.”  
  
Octavia sighed, she understood - a lot of people were now on curfews; parents were concerned that their children would end up like Monty.  
  
“Raven, you can help, right?” Octavia stared with wide-eyes.  
  
The brunette took a second, “Sure thing. Anything you need.”  
  
Octavia Blake smiled contently to herself. She wasn’t going to play by his rules. Or anyone’s rules.  
  
She wasn’t going to be a victim, not anymore.  
  
She was going to do things her way.  
  
Even if it killed her.


	6. i have a feeling that you're way off on this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's some sex in this so beware i guess! i'm HORRENDOUS at writing smut BUTTT i really tried! enjoy!!!

Love makes people do crazy things.  
  
Love sure made Murphy crazy, or maybe Murphy was crazy in love – he wasn’t sure yet.  
  
For Bellamy, he was willing to do anything, say anything, renounce everything. The boy was all he had in this harsh and callous, merciless world.  
  
John Murphy was just eight years old when he learned that life played games with you. That just when the sun came out, a black cloud would trail behind. And in the darkness of those days, John Murphy encountered life’s wicked cousin – Death.  
  
He could still hear his father’s voice in his ear, ‘stand with your legs apart’ and ‘grip the bat here’ his father would show him the correct way to hold a baseball bat - ‘not here’ – he’d mimic the way Murphy awkwardly held it.  
  
His father was his little league coach: ‘concentrate, Murphy’ and ‘swing as hard as you can.’ He would repeat to the boy often; his advice would even arise in his dreams. But, after a while – his father’s voice begun to die, just as he did.  
  
At eight years old, John Murphy lost his father.  
  
Cruel and ironically, it happened right after a little league game.  
  
Murphy was fastened into the passenger seat and his father was driving when a drunk driver smacked into the driver’s side. His father didn’t expire instantly; it took a minute. Murphy was dazed, but aware, as he feebly watched his father - wrestling with his breath as sharp fragments of glass protruded from the smooth skin of his throat.  
  
The boy struggled a lot after that. His dreams turned to nightmares of animated, monstrous cars equipped with a craving for little boys. Murphy quit little league, there was no point without his father. He stopped doing the things he had once enjoyed, he stopped participating in life entirely. Murphy isolated himself: a side effect of post-traumatic stress. At least, that’s what his therapist told his mother. With the isolation, came the obvious loss of friends. And with the loss of friends, came that ‘outsider’ reputation. And when you were an outsider, it was easier for other kids to pick on you.  
  
Middle school was the birthplace of bullying – and Murphy was familiar with it all too well. He had been tormented for a myriad of his characteristics, not just for his ‘loner freak who doesn’t talk to anyone’ appearance. He had put on some weight, that came with not playing little league and using food to attempt at filling some hollow hole in his heart.  
  
There were times when Murphy felt completely and utterly hopeless, he had recoiled deep into his shell and he sensed that things weren’t ever going get to better. Drowning underneath tidal waves of depression and along with the hasty train of puberty – he no longer felt like himself. Murphy grew taller and shed the weight, his face lost its prepubescence exterior and the boy become an entirely new person by the time he entered high school.  
  
Things got a little better after that, the bullying eased up, he gained friends, found some solace in parts of the internet, and then he met Bellamy.  
  
Murphy kept the terribly dark parts of himself away from Bellamy, hidden away like a box of booby trapped treasure – or at least he tried too. But, Bellamy knew of his dad’s death. The whole town of Aurora did. Bellamy would sometimes question about Murphy’s father, in the cavernous dusk of night, when the boyfriends were holding one another. Murphy wouldn’t say much, sometimes, nothing at all. He assumed that perhaps Bellamy could relate somehow with his mother, but for Murphy, talking about his dad delivered a package of feelings he didn’t want to sign for.  
  
Murphy breathed, filling his lungs with the warm summer’s air. He adored this time of the year, when the flowers begun to blossom following a barren winter, when the sun stopped hiding, when everything hummed of green. Bellamy was an admirer of autumn and winter, but Murphy was all about the summer. The cold made him blue (literally and metaphorically), breathing in icy air felt like nails in his lungs. He couldn’t understand the excitement over snow, sure snowmen and snow angels were fun for the first thirty seconds but then after, snow was just, uninteresting. The soft white flurries turned into muted brown ice rocks.  
  
He excavated his keys out of his backpack and was just about to unlock his car when a voice called out to him from across the parking lot,  
  
“Hey you’re Bellamy’s boyfriend, right?”  
  
Murphy turned towards the source and saw a girl with soft brown locks sitting in a pickup truck – it looked as if she was waiting for someone.  
  
“What’s it to you?” He shouted, a peppering of hostility peeking through his words. Whenever random people asked him if he was dating Bellamy, it was typically followed with derogatory slurs.  
  
“I’m Clarke’s girlfriend.” Her voice floated easily in the air. She got out of the truck and locked it behind her before half-walking/half-jogging to close the gap between her and Murphy.  
  
Bellamy had told him once about Clarke’s girlfriend. Bellamy knew she went to a different high school in a nearby town but other than that, he didn’t know much about her.  
  
Up close, she was dramatically stunning. Murphy always felt like high schoolers that went to a different school were always so good-looking. It was an alien form of pretty, a ‘why don’t people like you exist at my school’ pretty. She wore a light denim shirt that completed her high cheekbones and almond eyes.  
“Lexa.” She stuck a hand out for Murphy to shake, he placed his keys in his pocket to free up his hand.  
  
“Murphy.” He said, offering an obligatory, lop-sided smile.  
  
“You’re Bellamy’s boyfriend, right?” Lexa repeated the question, pulling away from the handshake.  
  
Murphy sensed she already knew the answer, “Yeah, why?”  
  
Lexa chuckled a little, her breath smelled of cherries, “Clarke talks about Bellamy and you, all the time. She thinks you guys are the cutest thing.”  
  
Murphy thought it was odd that Clarke still spoke of Bellamy despite the two not being friends anymore, but Bellamy also talked about Clarke, so he couldn’t be hypocritical.  
  
Lexa continued, “I wanted to know if you knew anything about what happened between them? Clarke and Bellamy. Why’d they stop being friends? She won’t really tell me anything, except that it had to do with her father.”  
  
The word, father, felt like venom in Murphy’s ears.  
  
He shrugged, “I know as much as you do.”  
  
“Bellamy never told you?”  
  
Murphy squinted, “It’s a touchy subject.”  
  
“Okay.” The dissatisfaction was clear in her voice, she offered a smirk and ‘it was nice to meet you’ before jogging back to her car.  
  
Murphy got into his vehicle and pulled out of the parking lot. In the rearview mirror, he could make out the distant, hugging figures of Clarke and Lexa.  
  
He pressed on the gas.  
  
|||  
  
Bellamy sat half-naked on the edge of his bed. He revolved, facing his window. His bottomless eyes gazed through the glass, the sun would start to set in half an hour – he should probably head out soon to pick up Murphy for their date.  
  
But, Bellamy couldn’t find the motivation to put on pants.  
  
He thought to himself that maybe if he just sat there until the day was over, without pants on – that he could stay home with Octavia and make sure she was safe.  
  
He thought that perhaps if he sat there, very still, then Murphy wouldn’t get annoyed for him flaking. As if Murphy was some animal that could only detect movement.  
  
Bellamy thought of lying – maybe telling Murphy that he didn’t feel good, even giving him a believable cough attack while on the phone.  
  
But then Bellamy thought about how he had already said yes in the first place and now it would just be rude to say no. He should’ve stood his ground, not let Murphy persuade him into this date. Not with everything happening right now. It was unfair.  
  
His mind continued its wandering course, eventually coming to a memory that Bellamy stored on top of a glass pedestal. It was right after the funeral; Bellamy’s uncle had taken Octavia home but Bellamy wanted to stay around a little longer. Murphy offered to stay with him, but Bellamy barked at him to leave. Nevertheless, immovable Murphy remained – standing right by him. The two stood like two pillars for a while, the fabrics of their suits barely touching, no words shared between them. Eventually a light drizzle came, and Murphy still stood there, waiting for Bellamy to be ready.  
  
Murphy could be found in almost any healthy memory Bellamy created over the last two years. The two boys had infused in one another, there was absolutely nothing that Bellamy wouldn’t do for him – Murphy had stuck beside him through thick and thin, it was only fair he did the same.  
  
But, Bellamy had to be completely honest. His relationship with Murphy did not come without faults and flaws. There were times where Bellamy wanted nothing to do with Murphy, there were differences, there were fights, and there were break-ups. But, for the most part, they were together and content.  
  
The summer of junior year was one of the lowest points in their relationship. The boys had been dating for about a year and a half at this point, while things were supposed to be stable for them, they weren’t. After his mother passed, it was hard for Bellamy to feel anything. Love was not excluded. He hadn’t fell out of love with Murphy exactly, but he had stopped doing the things a good boyfriend should do. Bellamy didn’t want to be near Murphy, he didn’t want to see Murphy, he didn’t want to touch him.  
  
It was some twisted sub-conscious form of self-punishment, really.  
  
Despite being madly in love with Murphy, Bellamy felt as if he himself was undeserving of being loved back. Maybe it was because he blamed himself for his mother’s murder, he slept while she was attacked. Maybe, he felt that if she could love no longer, then he shouldn’t be able to either. He didn’t stop loving Murphy, he wanted Murphy to stop loving him.  
  
Bellamy tried his complete hardest to drive him away but Murphy wouldn’t budge. He knew what Bellamy was trying to do, and he wasn’t going to allow it. Murphy was like that; he would call Bellamy out when he was acting like a complete idiot – he wouldn’t let Bellamy bullshit him. There was some sick, bitter part buried deep within in the confines of Bellamy that throbbed with an urge to know what it would take to ultimately get Murphy to leave.  
  
Bellamy regretted this moment every time the sliver of remembrance flashed through his brain.  
  
It was one of those dark summer nights crowded with liquor and cannabis. Murphy had been calling and texting, nothing troubling, just cute text messages like ‘how are you doing?’ and ‘did you eat?’ and the ever-known ‘stay safe’.  
  
Bellamy naturally ignored them all, leaving every single one on read just so he could have the sick pleasure of imagining Murphy disappointed at the fact he was being ignored. But, just ignoring Murphy wasn’t enough, it didn’t fill the hole he felt in the side of his brain – he had to go farther.  
  
And that’s exactly what he did – he went as far as he could possibly go.  
  
There was some guy, who didn’t go to their high school, that had been ogling Bellamy all night. At first, he overlooked it. But as the night progressed, Bellamy found his eyes flirting back. With more sips of beer and more blunt hits, the other guy begun to look unbelievably appealing. Bellamy could feel the fabric of his jeans broadening around his groin and before he knew it – he found himself shirtless on top of a stranger with the body of a professional soccer player. Their alcoholic kisses were sloppy and reckless, their hands moving clumsily in the night – soft fingers traced at the skin of Bellamy’s nipple before it trailed downwards. The man started unfastening Bellamy’s jeans as he whispered into Bellamy’s ear, his sultry breath sending shivers down Bell’s spine, “I’m Miller.”  
  
Miller’s plump lips drank on the skin of Bellamy’s neck before he snuck down and took Bellamy into his mouth with one swift motion. Bellamy grunted as he pressed himself into the cavern of Miller’s throat. Miller gladly unlocked his mouth and took all of him. Bellamy found himself gliding his thumb over the skin of Miller’s cheek, rubbing gentle circles on the surface of his beard. It was a gesture he had done countless times when Murphy was sucking him off. Murphy. The name felt like a gunshot.  
  
Bellamy wanted to stop, to pull away. But, it all felt too good and he couldn’t stop thinking about how mad Murphy would be when he found out. After a while of Miller’s bobbing back and forth, he pulled away and looked up at Bellamy with sparkling eyes and a crooked smile that sent Bellamy tumbling over the edge – his seed spilling onto Miller’s lips.  
  
The whole ordeal had exhausted Bellamy, and the two adulterers fell asleep next to one another on what was probably the host’s parent’s bed. Bellamy had wanted to reach out and hold Miller, take him in his arms like he did after he and Murphy had sex. But Miller wasn’t Murphy. And that’s when Bellamy he had fucked up.  
  
After that night, Bellamy could never look at Murphy without feeling guilty. It was a long harbored secret. Sometimes, he felt like maybe Murphy knew – perhaps he found out through the grapevine. But, the affair had never escaped Bellamy’s lips, and Murphy never asked about it, so there was no way to know for sure.   
  
Bellamy was up and moving now, crossing into the space of his closet and blindly picking out a pair of pants that didn’t look well with the t-shirt he already had on.  
  
He stared at himself in the mirror for a while. He didn’t look like himself. His skin appeared a little paler, his face a little slimmer.  
  
Mental note: start eating more.  
  
There was knock at the front door, “I’ll get it.” He called out to Octavia.  
  
His feet pounded on the steps of the stairs as he rushed to the door, he pulled it open to find that standing on the other side was none other than Raven Reyes.  
  
Bellamy didn’t know Raven much, but she was stunningly beautiful. Her skin was caressed by the gleam of the setting sun, her eyes were wide and aware, she looked like a woman who knew exactly what she wanted from absolutely every situation she was in – and for some reason, that power tinged Bellamy with a delicate fear, “Can I help you?”  
  
Raven opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by a voice that came from behind the boy.  
  
“She’s here for me.” Octavia appeared like a dark shadow in the night, she squeezed past Bellamy and took Raven by the hand, leading her up the stairs.  
  
Bellamy barely noticed that Raven was carrying a laptop case, “Octavia.” He shouted out to her, she stopped climbing the stairs and turned back around to face her brother, “I’m going out with Murphy. Call me if you need anything, okay?”  
  
She nodded before disappearing up the stairs.  
  
Bellamy took his keys off the hook and locked the door behind him.  
  
|||  
  
The movie theater felt more empty than usual. Sure, Wednesday was a weird night to go out and catch a movie, but the tickets were cheap. Bellamy had gotten two tickets for something Murphy had been wanting to see for a while – but, Bellamy could care less about the movie. He was probably going to think about Octavia the whole night, hoping she and Raven would still be alive by the time he got home.  
  
Bellamy stood with Murphy in line at the concession stand. His stomach begun growling with anticipation, the aroma of all the junk food wasn’t helping the cause, either. But, he had told himself that he should eat something. The last thing he could remember digesting was that frozen waffle he had before Kane came to tell them about the gravestone.  
  
“What’s Octavia doing for the night?” Murphy pulled him away from his thoughts.  
  
Bellamy shrugged, “Raven’s with her. She got there right before I left.”  
  
Murphy looked confused, “Raven… Reyes? I didn’t know they were friends.”  
  
“Me neither.”  
  
They moved up in line.  
  
“She’s Lincoln’s cousin, right?” Murphy inquired.  
  
Bellamy nodded, “Yeah, I think.”  
  
“Where is Lincoln?” Murphy turned his head to the front counter, and then in the other direction. He looked at every employee, the ones manning the register, and the ones checking the tickets at the doors of the screening areas, “I thought he was working tonight.”  
  
They moved up another spot in line.  
  
“That’s what Octavia told me.” Bellamy couldn’t think about much other than a carton of nachos, or maybe some chicken tenders.  
  
“Weird.” The word was a whisper, Murphy let his raised eyebrow fall before turning his attention back towards the concessions.  
  
A silence drifted between them as they moved up another spot in line, and then finally made it up to the counter. Manning it was none other than Bryan, the football hero of Aurora.  
  
Bellamy felt slightly uncomfortable as he couldn’t help but remember the fake story Murphy had told him about Bryan sending him nudes. The image of the footballer’s, made-up, massive penis was sitting in Bellamy’s brain. He shook his head to get rid of the thought.  
  
“Hey, guys!” Bryan smiled warmly at the two, there was a mini gap in between his two-front teeth that Bellamy had never noticed before. It was strange seeing him in a place of employment and not drunk at some party. “What can I get you?”  
  
Murphy ordered a box of popcorn, extra butter, of course. Bellamy settled on some chicken tenders. Bryan moved to start prepping the food items.  
  
“Hey, where’s Lincoln?” Murphy asked him.  
  
Bryan pouted, his eyes scanning through the space of the theater, “I don’t know.” He pumped some cheese into a plastic container and set it on the tray of chicken tenders, “He was supposed to be working tonight. Haven’t seen him though.” Bryan arranged the whole order on the counter and Bellamy slid the dollars across.  
  
“Enjoy the movie!” Bryan gave them another smile and the boys reciprocated before making their way down to theater number six.  
  
As Bellamy munched on a processed strip of chicken, he couldn’t help but wonder why Lincoln had lied to Octavia about working. He imagined that maybe Lincoln had suddenly came down with something and was forced to call out. Or maybe, he was on his way to work and his car unexpectedly broke down, leaving him stranded. But through all the made-up scenarios, something didn’t sit well in his stomach – and it wasn’t the chicken.  
  
The movie trailers came to an end and the lights in the theater started to dim as the film begun. Bellamy was just about to put his phone on silent when it started ringing in his hands.  
  
“Shut it off, asshole!” Some guy in front bawled back at him.  
  
Bellamy looked down at the screen, his eyes widening as he read who the call was from: unknown number.  
  
It was the killer.  
  
“I should take this.” He mumbled to Murphy, his eyes mesmerized by the screen.  
  
“Who is it?” Murphy questioned, but Bellamy was already climbing from his seat and heading out of the screening theater. When he had made it into an empty hallway, he accepted the call and pressed the phone to his ear.  
  
“Hello?” He spoke lowly, his heart approaching a lull.  
  
“Don’t sound so surprised that I’m calling.” The voice teased, their words were faintly robotic; somehow disguised to mask the real voice of whoever was speaking. It was just as Octavia described to him.  
  
“What the hell do you want?” Bellamy’s words were tight as they fled from his lips.  
  
“Did you enjoy the gift I left your mother?”  
  
Bellamy could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, “Fuck you.”  
“Take it easy, big boy. Maybe some other night. You’re with Murphy right now, aren’t you?”  
  
Bellamy didn’t respond.  
  
“You’re good at fucking other people, aren’t you, Bellamy?”  
  
Bellamy’s heart thumped in his chest, his feet begged him to move, to escape the openness and the threat of exposure the hallway posed. He steered into the men’s bathroom as he muttered, “What are you talking about?” Bellamy peered underneath the men’s stalls to make sure no one else was in there with him, when he was positive he was alone, he locked himself in.  
  
“We both know what I’m talking about. What was his name again…” there was a silence as the caller pretended to search through their brain, “Miller?”  
  
“How the fuck do you know about that?” Bellamy stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, his fists tightening so forcefully he was sure his nails were ripping through the skin of his palms.  
  
“I know everything, Bellamy. Does Murphy know?”  
  
The question tore through Bellamy’s gut, “No.” he gritted through his teeth.  
  
There was a sigh on the end of the other line, “Tsk tsk, Bellamy. You shouldn’t keep secrets this big. I’ll make sure to tell your precious Murphy about this one right before I slice through his throat.”  
  
“You wouldn’t fucking dare.” Bellamy crunched down on his teeth, his body felt weak as some man threatened his entire life.  
  
“Imagine this: Murphy bleeding out on the floor wondering why his boyfriend didn’t love him enough to stay faithful.”  
  
Bellamy had to blink back tears, his words came out through breaths, “Leave him alone. I’ll kill you if you touch him.”  
  
“You’d have to find out who I am first.” And with that, the line disconnected.  
  
Bellamy let out a drawn-out breath, one that vibrated through his entire body. He clutched onto the porcelain sink to steady his walking corpse, tears tumbling down the drain every time he blinked. He aimed to focus on inhaling evenly, but his lungs refused to collaborate with his brain. There was a slew of worries going through his head that he was already aware of a headache settling in. Bellamy grasped at the skin above his slowing heart through the fabric of his t-shirt, the organ felt like dead weight in the cage of his ribs. He seized one last breath and concentrated all his energy on standing up straight, and with enough force and focus, his trembling legs moved back into position.  
  
Bellamy stood there for a while, staring at himself in the mirror through now bloated, crimson eyes. He patted at his eyes with the palms of his hands, but found that the skin was slick with sweat and he now just looked like a muddle of moistness. The boy turned on the sink faucet, letting the cool water run for a while before grabbing cupfuls of it with his hands and washing his face clean. He stood again, examining his face – it was still obvious he had been crying, but it was the best he was going to look now.  
  
After drying his moist face off with some brown paper towels, he was just about to unlock the door and rejoin Murphy in the theater when his phone pulsed in his pockets.  
  
He tentatively slid the device out and looked down at the new picture message from the unknown number.  
  
The picture he saw nearly caused him to collapse on the restroom floor.  
  
It was Bellamy, asleep.  
  
Lying next to a slumbering Miller.  
  
|||  
  
Clarke Griffin tossed a green grape into the air. Lexa’s head fell backwards, her mouth open as she moved through the air, positioning herself just right to catch the grape with her teeth. When the small fruit fell effortlessly into the vacuum of her mouth, Lexa crunched down on it, it’s cold juices scattering out on her tongue. She looked up at Clarke with a grin.  
  
“Okay, my turn.” Clarke passed the bag of grapes over to Lexa who reached her hands in and plucked one out before throwing it up into the air. Clarke tried to repeat the same motions Lexa had, her eyes tracing the path of the grape anxiously, but somehow the fruit fell past her gaze and grazed the skin of her cheek before falling on her bedroom floor.  
  
Lexa let out an contagious laugh, “You suck.” She teased.  
  
Clarke groaned, grabbing the grape off the floor and tossing it into her wastebin, “You’ve caught every single grape, and I’ve yet to catch one.”  
  
Lexa shrugged, “I’m a pro. What more can I say?”  
  
Clarke stole the bag back from her girlfriend, popping a grape into her own mouth and biting down on it, rolling her eyes. She uncrossed her legs and stood from her bed, moving over to the window to peer into the night sky.  
  
“What are you thinking about?” Lexa asked, her eyes now staring down at a phone screen, her thumb sliding up and down.  
  
Clarke’s eyes moved towards her open closet; a vacant space where the canvas had once been, “I talked to Bellamy today.”  
Lexa instantly perked up, a shining look seized her face, her eyes roaring with a proudness, “What did he say?! What did you say?!” she pestered.  
  
“I just gave him the portrait of us.” Clarke shrugged, she absent-mindedly begun playing with the tip of her nails.  
  
Lexa slapped down on the blankets, “That’s it?”  
  
“I didn’t know what else to say! I panicked!”  
  
“You could’ve said you missed him! That you want to-” Lexa’s lips stopped moving as a noise occupied the bedroom – the sound of a ringing phone.  
  
Clarke put a finger up to tell Lexa to hold on before crossing over to her nightstand and picking up her cell phone. It was an unknown number. Clarke slid her finger across the screen to accept the call, she gave an annoyed ‘hello.’ Expecting it to be a prank call.  
  
“Hey, baby.”  
  
Clarke’s heart instantaneously thawed, her tense shoulders relaxing, “Dad!” she exclaimed, “Why are you calling from an unknown number?”  
  
“It’s showing up as an unknown number?” Jake Griffin questioned but didn’t let Clarke answer, “I have no idea. My phone’s been acting up for days now. But, how are you? God, I’ve missed you so much.”  
  
“Come back to town!” She suggested excitedly, her eyes widening with joy.  
  
“That’s what I’m calling about. I’ll be back in Aurora tomorrow.”  
  
Clarke couldn’t stop the wide beam from spreading through her lips. She was thrilled to see her father again, the last time he had been around felt like ages ago. But, there was only one thing that stood between her and her dad, and that thought made her frown, “Does mom know?”  
“No. But! I’ll bring doughnuts.”  
  
Clarke snickered along with her father. The call lasted a few more minutes before it came to an end, “I love you.”  
  
“I love you too, baby. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”  
  
Clarke was about to say ‘okay’ when the line disconnected. She took the phone from her ear and stared down at it.  
  
Her phone had died.  
  
|||  
  
“I’m doing a crap ton of work just to find out which guy wants to see your boobs.” Raven hit a few more keys on her laptop, her fingers looked like they had grown muscles from all the typing and clicking she had been doing.  
  
Octavia’s eyes traced the wires from Raven’s laptop that were connected to her phone, the setup looked like a fading patient hooked up to various hospital machines and IVs. “He just won’t leave me alone.” Octavia strained to offer a fake laugh and smile, but her lips were rigid with the thought of finally founding out who the killer was.  
  
Raven stopped typing for a second, the unfamiliar program on her screen coming to a halt, she turned in the swivel chair to face Octavia with her whole body. There was a look of genuine concern plastered on her face, her walnut eyes sparked a feeling in Octavia she couldn’t understand. “If there’s something going on, Octavia. You can tell me. You know that, right?”  
  
The words sat in Octavia’s head for a moment before she nodded and said thank you.  
  
Raven gave the girl a bicep squeeze before turning back around to hit more keys.  
  
Octavia stared at the clock, it was now almost 9:30. Bellamy would be back at any minute and she was growing nervous, if Bellamy found out she had involved Raven in this, all hell would break loose.  
  
“How much longer is this going to take?” Octavia questioned, trying her best to not sound impatient.  
  
“Just…” Raven hit more keys, “A few…” she typed a long string of characters into a blank field, “More.” She clicked on some boxes – a ding noise from her computer, “It’s done.” She smiled contently to herself.  
  
Octavia peered into the screen, every muscle in her neck straining to get a closer look. Her cheek was practically brushing against Raven’s. “Who is it?”  
  
“Well, I just have to hit this...” Raven pointed to the letter ‘N’ before turning her head to meet Octavia’s eyes with a grin, “I thought you would want to do it.”  
  
Octavia didn’t hesitate, she smacked down on the key so hard she thought the ‘N’ was never going to be functional again. A bright loading screen popped up and then,  
  
Everything flashed.  
  
There was a brash, whining beep before Raven’s screen croaked. “What happened?!” Octavia practically shrieked, all that hard work, lost. “Did I not hit the right key?” she questioned.  
  
Raven shook her head, muttering a few curses underneath her breath. The screen somehow rumbled back to life – a bright blue error screen appearing in the place of a welcoming logo, “The guy must have some extra encryption software installed on his phone, it crashed my entire computer.”  
  
Octavia shook her head, wanting nothing more than to rip out locks of her own hair. Why had she been so stupid to not think that, obviously, a murderer using his phone to torment his victims would of course take every necessary precaution in order to not be tracked?  
  
“I’m sorry.” Raven offered, disconnecting Octavia’s phone and handing it back to her.  
  
“It’s not your fault.” Octavia whispered, clutching the phone between her fingers, “You tried your best, thank you. It means a lot.” It did, Octavia now considered Raven to be a powerful friend and ally.  
  
Raven begun packing her laptop and cords back into her case. Octavia crossed from the living room into the space of her kitchen. She stood there for a moment, thinking what steps she should take now. But there were none. She was caught at square one.  
  
Octavia groaned to herself, running a frustrated hand through her hair. She was just about to call Bellamy and ask when he would be home when a text message popped up on her screen.  
  
From unknown caller: “You should know better than involving anyone in this. That’s strike one.”


	7. because, i'm standing in the closet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys i really hope y'all are enjoying the story so far <3 
> 
> & feel free to leave comments even if its just to ask for updates cause they really motivate me to keep writing :)

Jake Griffin took an eager breath, his finger pressing deep into the doorbell. He could almost hear the bell going off from the inside, it’s muted chime alerting the residents of his presence. He took a moment to balance the box of doughnuts in one hand before he dusted specs of invisible dirt from the skin of his pants with the other.  
  
The man’s eyes stirred underneath his eyelids, first outlining the exterior of the house – the same old blue it had been since he and Abby purchased the small craftsman ages ago. His gaze subsequently fell upon the fence that secured the wrap-around porch, strong white columns spaced out evenly between the brackets. Jake beamed, thinking back on a picture that sat in a shoebox in his attic. The picture was of him and Abby perched atop this same fence, an infant Clarke sitting on their lap. All smiles. There were no, obvious, reasons for frowns – they were a new family in front of their new house.  
  
They used to be a family.  
  
But, it had been his fault, his own careless decisions that tore said family apart.  
  
If you would’ve told a twenty something year old Jake that he would no longer have Abby and Clarke in his life in only a decade and some change – a part of him would’ve laughed at you. But, a hidden, buried part of himself, would’ve undoubtedly believed you.   
  
Jacob and Abigail Griffin had both been teachers, in fact, that’s how the two met – in college, studying education. Jake had been somewhat of a frat boy in college, he was about parties and booze and having an amplitude of fun. Abby, on the other hand, was much more mature – her degree came first, she could party afterwards. Maybe that’s what had drawn him to her. She knew what she wanted from her career, her relationship (every single aspect of it), and her life in general. Abby relished in the fixer-upper that Jake was, she felt as if she could mold him into the perfect man – into the man of her, deepest, dreams.   
  
She was wrong.  
  
Jake craved the sweet parts of Abby, the pieces of her that were enjoyable and exciting to him. Anything else gave him a migraine. He tried to push past those feelings, to devote himself entirely to her. And at first, he did his best. He accepted everything that came with a relationship: the fights, the compromises, the bills. But, he soon came to realize that he wanted his cake, and he wanted to eat it too. And when he saw he couldn’t have both – he fell into the arms of another.  
  
Stupid, idiot, jackass, cheater – Jake Griffin was all of it.  
  
He had come to that realization once he lost Abby. But he saw no wrong in his ways when he still did have her. The affair was hot, it was exciting, it was fresh and new. But, like all affairs, it would come to its end – either on behalf of the parties involved, or because someone found out about it. Stupid, idiot, jackass, cheater Jake had been particularly careless one night and Abby, in her cleverness and logic, had practically forced him to admit what had been happening.  
  
Divorce papers came quicker than a man who hadn’t had sex in forty years. Divorce wasn’t even the worse part of the whole episode, for once Abby had found out about the affair, so did the whole conservatively small town of Aurora – he was run out of town and took up a teaching job at a nearby community college. Jake Griffin had lost his family, he had lost Abby, and he had lost Clarke.  
  
Clarke.   
  
His unblinking eyes stared in awe at her platinum hair, the morning light reflecting off it like a bar of gold shining underneath an Egyptian sun.  
  
She moved slowly, and then all at once, draping her arms around his neck, “Dad.” She mumbled into the cloth of his button-up shirt.  
  
He adjusted himself underneath her grasp, his arms encircling around a daughter he hadn’t seen in what surely had been years now. Jake shut his eyes, he thought to say something, but was afraid that this was a mirage, that his daughter would slip from his fingers like grains of sand.  
  
“I missed you so much.” Clarke broke the silence, taking a deep breath of her father. He smelled of the cologne he had worn since she was a child.  
  
“Ahem.” An exaggerated throat clearance came from inside of the house. Jake opened his eyes to find Abby standing in the doorframe, her arms crossed over one another.  
  
Clarke recoiled, turning to face her mother, “Mom. Dad’s here.” She offered weakly, grabbing the box of doughnuts from his hand, “He brought breakfast!”  
  
Jake’s eyes tumbled downwards, slightly nervous to meet Abby’s gaze, as if he would turn to stone if he dared look at her. An ashamed feeling arose within him. He should’ve told Abby he was coming instead of springing this on her. It was unfair of him to make her look like the bad guy in front of Clarke.  
  
“Jake.” Abby greeted him, the four letters felt like rubbing alcohol on fresh wounds.  
  
“Abby.” He reciprocated, finally turning upwards to meet her eyes. She looked older now, but so did he. She was still beautiful, nonetheless, perhaps even more beautiful than she had ever been. Jake’s mind raced back to those collegiate days where her graceful poise had always left him marveled.  
  
“I’m assuming you’ll be staying for dinner?”  
  
Jake danced on his words, “If you’ll have me.”  
“Kane will be there.” She said, it somehow came off as a warning.  
  
“I’d love to meet him.” There was a grin tugging at Jake’s lips.  
  
Abby nodded, “Very well.”  
  
The two stood in silence for a minute, their piercing eyes fixed on one another. He was trying to read her, to read what kind of a person she had become – and Abby was doing the same. One question floated in the both of their heads: what could’ve been?  
  
They would never know.  
  
“We should get going.” Abby stepped onto the porch, locking the front door behind her before moving to place a small hand on Clarke’s back.  
  
“Yeah, of course, don’t want to be late.” Jake remembered the times when he had to take Clarke to school, he had never been good at making sure she got there on time.  
  
Clarke opened the box of doughnuts and picked out her favorite: glazed. She held the pastry in between her teeth before closing the box and placing it back in Jake’s hands. The girl gave her father a kiss on the cheek and a ‘I’ll see you later’ before mother and daughter got into their car.  
  
Jake stood on the porch, watching as the family he once had, drove off.  
  
|||  
  
Clarke was, happy.  
  
Ecstatic.  
  
Over the moon.  
  
Her father was back. Although she didn’t know how long for, exactly. But, she was determined to make the most out of every second she had with him. She could barely even focus in class, dreaming about the things she would tell him about over dinner. How life had been over the last couple years, all the good things: Lexa, volleyball, her SAT scores, her college plans. She would probably leave out the bad: the murders, Monty, her breakup with the Blake twins.  
  
“Clarke.” Abby scolded, her voice firm yet gentle in her throat, she had noticed that her daughter hadn’t been concentrating in her class.  
  
Clarke nearly jumped in her seat, “Sorry, mo-” she stopped herself. She didn’t like calling Mrs. Griffin, mom, in class. It was uncomfortable.   
  
“We were talking about duality in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.” Abby reminded her. There was only a week left of school but Abby insisted on cramming her students with as much knowledge on literature as she humanly could until the last possible second, “What do you know about duality in the novella?”  
  
Clarke cleared her throat, trying to stall as her brain rushed through notes and quizzes and tests, “Duality…” she started, her eyes turning towards the ceiling hoping the answer would come to her soon. Luckily, it did. “Well, there’s the obvious duality of Dr. Jekyll, his alter-ego is Mr. Hyde. One is good, the other is evil.”  
  
“Why, do you think, that Mr. Hyde is evil?” Abby took a seat on the edge of her desk, awaiting her daughter’s answer.  
  
Clarke shrugged, licking at her lips, “He’s evil because Jekyll isn’t. Hyde represents Jekyll’s repression – all the terrible things that Jekyll can’t act on, comes out through Hyde.”  
  
“And, what do you think Stevenson is trying to tell us about good and evil within man?”  
  
“That everyone has a little evil within them.” Clarke paused, “And sometimes there’s no reason for it.”  
  
|||  
  
Clarke had sunk back into her seat after the literary interrogation. Eventually the period came to an end, indicated by the bell. She rose, grabbing her books off the wooden desk and moving them into her bag.  
  
“Clarke.” Abby called, “I want to talk to you.” The words were low enough that only the last few people left in the class would hear.  
  
The girl finished placing her books in her bag before she crossed towards her mother’s desk, watching through vague eyes as her mother erased the chalkboard, “Is this because I wasn’t paying attention?”  
  
Abby shook her head but didn’t turn around to face her daughter, her attention fully on the chalkboard, “It’s about your father.”  
  
“What about him?” Clarke squinted. Nervousness begun to develop within her, she was faintly concerned that her mother would revoke her father’s invitation to dinner.   
  
Abby exhaled, “I know you think I hate him.”  
  
“No… I don’t…” She stumbled.   
“You do.” Abby wasn’t lying, Clarke had felt like her mother wanted nothing more than for Jake to disappear completely, or even better, die. “I know that you’ve always resented me because I didn’t want joint custody.” The woman set the eraser down, finally turning to look at her daughter, “It’s not the life I wanted for you. Constantly going back and forth between towns, never having a steady, stable home.”  
  
“I get it, mom.” She did get it. Clarke wouldn’t have liked that kind of life either, never knowing where to settle into. Aurora was her home, and Abby was her mother.  
  
“He could be in town for a while, or just for the night. But, I don’t want you getting too attached. Understand?”  
Clarke nodded, her mind was starting to slip however, her attention drifting towards the next class she was going to be minutes late too.  
  
“God knows Jake tends to turn back on commitments.” The comment slipped through Abby’s teeth as smooth as silk.  
  
“Is that it, mom?”  
  
Abby nodded, “Yes. Get to third period.”  
  
Clarke didn’t hesitate, she left her mother with a warm smile before turning out into the empty hallway. Her pace quickened a bit as she thought of Mr. Irving, who would unquestionably discipline her for her tardiness in front of the whole class. Clarke was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she had barely enough time to swerve out of the way when she turned the corner and crashed right into another student. Clarke’s bag hit the floor with a low thud, books tumbled out of their cage.  
  
“I’m sorry.” Clarke muttered quickly, dropping to the ground to rearrange her textbooks.  
  
“Don’t worry about it, Clarke.” The word rolled off her tongue like it had spoken that name a thousand times before.  
  
In fact, it had.  
  
Clarke looked up, her wide eyes meeting Octavia’s. Her brain twisted: here was the beautiful brunette, her long-lost friend, she couldn’t help but say her name, “Octavia.”  
  
“Hey.” Octavia’s voice sounded distant, “didn’t really feel like going to class today anyways.” She dropped down with a slight smile before helping the other girl collect up her books.  
  
Clarke couldn’t find the words she wanted to say, it was that same panic, that same undernourishment of words she had felt with Bellamy yesterday, “How are-”  
  
Octavia held up a finger, “Don’t even ask.” It was a question Octavia had heard too many times over the past few days. She let her hand fall to her sides, “Guess where I’m going…” she waited a second, “Drawing and painting.”  
  
A slight grin tugged at the blonde girl’s lips, “I told you to never take that.”  
  
Octavia shrugged, “All the other electives left were shit.”  
  
Clarke found herself giggling, and soon Octavia joined in. It was one of those things Clarke had enjoyed about Octavia, her bluntness, her fearlessness in telling things how it was – and using a curse word for emphasis. When the laugh started to die in her throat, Clarke couldn’t help the words that left her lips, “I miss you.”  
  
Octavia’s eyes flashed with surprise, looking for a shred of deceit in Clarke’s face. But, when they found none, her own face settled, “I miss you too.”  
  
Clarke was on the verge of saying something else when the sound of a phone went off, Octavia dug into her pockets and retrieved her cellular device. Clarke took that as a sign to leave, “I should get going. I’ll see you around?” She questioned, but Octavia looked too preoccupied with her phone, so instead of waiting for a response, she started on her walk to class.  
  
A few moments passed before Octavia spun on her own heels, “Clarke, do you want to hang out tonight or something?” She called down the hallway.  
  
The invitation felt like a the warmest of fire in Clarke’s heart. Her lips moved to accept, but the calendar in her brain remembered, “I can’t. My dad’s coming over for dinner.” And with that, the blonde hair girl ducked into third period.  
  
Octavia gaped at her phone, “Shit.” She vexed, rereading the message in her head.  
  
From unknown number: “you and Clarke have a lot in common, maybe you can save her tonight.”  
  
|||  
  
Bellamy and Octavia sat on the outskirts of Kennedy’s Park. The wooden bench rooted in the ground was just wide enough for the both of them. Kennedy’s park was located right next to the high school and it had been one of the twins’ hangout places during their middle school years. The twins would go to Kennedy’s after school when they knew their mother would be coming home a little late.  
  
Octavia stared at the playground, her attention drawn towards a little girl being pushed on the swings by what appeared to be her father. Octavia had always been fond of swinging, but for a long while Bellamy had to push her.  
  
“You’re going to have to learn how to swing by yourself.” He grunted as he pulled back on the chain and then let go, Octavia soaring through the air.  
  
“Why?” She yelled out in the air, “Are you gonna stop pushing me?” She asked when she got back to Bellamy’s standing point – his arms in position to give her another shove.  
  
He shook his head, “I’m not going to be here forever, O.”  
  
“Well, you’re here now, so push me!” She squealed as if her feet were swords that cut through clouds.  
  
Bellamy puffed, taking the open swing beside his sister. “You’re twelve years old. Every twelve-year-old knows how to swing.”  
  
“No one ever taught me.” Octavia’s swing arc had started to decline without Bellamy’s force.  
  
“I’ll teach you.”  
  
Octavia pouted, sure she wanted to know how to swing on her own, but being pushed by Bellamy was half the fun, “Fine.” She caved in.  
  
“You start like this.” Bellamy made a show of placing his hands on the chain, his butt firmly sat on the aging swing seat, “Then you go back.” Bellamy used his feet to push the swing back, coming to a near 45-degree angle with the ground.  
  
Octavia mimicked his movements, finding herself in Bellamy’s same position.  
  
“Then you just…” Bellamy tucked his legs underneath him. The swing began its motion, slicing through the air and then swaying backwards, “Let go.”  
  
Octavia did the same.  
  
“When you’re here.” He said at the starting point, “Bring your legs out like this.” He showed her. “Then when you’re coming backwards,” he tucked his legs inward, “If you push your legs out hard then you go faster and higher.”  
  
Octavia did as told, giggling as her swing went faster and higher with each energetic drive from her legs. She squeezed so tightly on the chain she was sure there would be permanent marks on her fingers, “Look Bell! I’m doing it!” The pre-teen nearly screamed at the top of her lungs.  
  
Bellamy looked at his sister now, she was older, six years older. But, recent events had made her look like she was in her thirties – the bags under her eyes were deep and dark, wrinkles had started prematurely growing in the skin of her forehead. He couldn’t understand how, in general, she had aged so rapidly. Even though he was only three minutes older, that gap might as well be three years. Bellamy always felt like he was years older than Octavia, he had grown accustomed to looking out for her, to being everything a big brother was supposed to be, and more.  
  
“She’s going to get attacked tonight.” Octavia stated, her eyes still fixed on the little girl on the swing-set.  
  
Bellamy’s fingers tensed around Octavia’s phone, his eyes reading the killer’s text over and over, “This could mean anything.”  
  
“Bullshit!” Octavia exclaimed, “We have to do something, tell someone.”  
Bellamy’s eyes flashed with a slice of fear, “No.” He had grown accustomed to the word.  
  
Octavia breathed out, she forced her eyes shut, her head rolling backwards, “Clarke is going to die. Don’t you get it?”  
  
“We’re already at strike one.” Bellamy gritted through teeth, trying his hardest not to snap at Octavia. He had barely forgiven her for involving Raven in this, and now they had accumulated a strike. God knows what would happen if they got another.  
  
Or worse, struck out.  
  
“You really think we should sit here and do nothing?” Octavia’s eyes roared to life, she batted her eyelashes at him, praying that he would realize he was making a grave mistake.  
  
The killer’s masked voice rang in his head. The psycho’s words were running marathons in his head and he knew that upsetting the killer would only result in the death of someone he cared about. And if he was forced to choose between Clarke and Octavia – he was going to choose Octavia. Bellamy nodded grimly, “It’s all we can do, O.”  
  
|||  
  
Clarke Griffin nudged a spoonful of mashed potatoes into her mouth, watching as her father cut his steak into bite-sized pieces. Her eyes studied his movements carefully, the way he held the knife between his thumb and index finger, the way the sharp blade cut smoothly into the meat. She was afraid that if she took her eyes from him for even a second, that he would disappear into thin air, as if their reunion was only a fragment of her own imagination.  
  
“Chief of Police, huh? That’s a pretty nice title to have.” Jake Griffin impaled a piece of steak with his fork before popping into his own mouth, his teeth ripping the meat to shreds.  
  
Kane cleared his throat before wiping his lips off with a napkin, “It’s not just a title. I’m responsible for the safety of this town.”  
  
‘Well, you’re not doing such a good job at it.’ The thought flashed in Clarke’s brain. She had no idea where the sudden hostility for Kane came from.  
  
“Those murders… and attacks.” Jake shook his head, his teeth sucking back on his lips, “I couldn’t live with myself if something like that happened in a town I was responsible for.”  
  
“Well…” Kane had to take a sip of water to gather his thoughts, “These things happen in virtually… every town. But, my men are doing a great job with the investigation.”  
  
That was a lie. Clarke knew they were at a dead end.  
  
“That’s good.” Jake nodded with a grin before turning his attention to Abby, “This steak is delicious.”  
  
“Thank you, Jake.” She spoke through tight lips.  
  
This whole exchange felt like a nightmare to Clarke. She yearned for those dinners she used to have as a child where her dad did nothing but crack terrible jokes and her mother gazed at him with pure love. Now, Abby looked at Jake with nothing but some form of a hidden hatred, a disgust for the man he had become.  
  
Clarke’s phone buzzed on the table, the screen flashed to life with a text message.  
  
From Octavia: “hey.”  
  
She smiled, Octavia had actually texted her. It was wonderful that she was trying to rekindle their friendship. She took the phone into her hands and was about to text back when her mother’s voice chirped in her ear.  
  
“Clarke. You know the rules, no phones at the dinner table, please.”  
  
“Sorry.” The blonde-haired girl mumbled before sliding the device into the pocket of her jeans.  
  
Dinner came to an end and as Clarke walked her father to the front door, Kane stood with Abby in the kitchen helping the woman clean up.  
  
“You don’t think it’s a little bit suspicious that Jake decided to come back to town now?” Kane handed Abby a dirty place, she rinsed it off in the sink before loading it in the dishwasher.  
  
“Are you asking me if I think my ex-husband is a murderer?” Abby stopped in her tracks, her eyes narrowed at her boyfriend.  
  
Kane shook his head, a muscle tightening in the corner of his jaw, “I don’t understand him.”  
  
“I mean, he’s an idiot and an ass. But, not a killer, Kane.” Abby turned her attention towards the sink again.  
  
“The audacity on him.” Kane laughed in suspicion, “to even show his face around here again.”  
  
“Let it go, Kane.” Abby warned softly.  
  
“You know what he did to Aurora!” He spat the words out like snake venom.  
  
“What are you saying? That Jake is responsible for that woman’s death?” Abby stood there in disbelief.  
  
Kane shrugged, “If he had never gotten involved with her, maybe she would still be…” his words trailed off, he took a rag off the counter and begun to wipe down the table.  
  
Abby knew that Kane had been in love with Aurora, sometimes she felt like she was cursed – all her romantic partners had once been in love with that woman. She wondered what charms Aurora possessed that she didn’t. She wondered if Kane would have even fallen in love with her if Aurora never died.  
  
“A lot of things would be different if she was still alive.” Abby rubbed her small hand along Kane’s shoulder, “I’ve moved on, accepted life, Marcus. You should too.”  
  
Kane couldn’t help but feel a tinge of pain in his stomach. His body reacted every single time he thought of her. Every time he thought of finding her corpse, her blood stains on the carpet. He longed to find the man who had taken her from him, and here he was – standing in the entranceway of his girlfriend’s home.  
  
Marcus Kane was positive of at least one thing: maybe Jake Griffin hadn’t killed Aurora Blake, but Jake Griffin was the reason Aurora Blake was dead.  
  
“I’ll see you tomorrow, right, Dad?” Clarke asked, a gleam of hope sparkling in her eyes.  
  
“Sure thing, babe. I’ll take you out for dinner tomorrow, how’s that sound? Eating dinner here was… painful.” He smiled at his daughter, and she giggled a little. Jake bent down and gave her a soft kiss on the forehead.  
  
Clarke’s mind flashed to the days when she was a child. Her father would tuck her in almost every single night. He would pick out a book from the bookshelf in her bedroom and read it to her in a different voice, or a different accent. Sometimes, Australian, other days Canadian, and on the rare occasions, stereotypical Italian. A young Clarke would laugh until she went blue in the face, eventually falling asleep to her father’s voice. He would leave her with a soft kiss on her forehead and she would dream of the stars, of the trees, of the ocean.  
  
Some nights however, Jake would tuck her in a little earlier, and read her a story a little quicker, with no accent. Clarke had come to realize, that those nights were the ones he would spend with Aurora Blake. Those nights, she never dreamed of the stars, instead she would dream of monsters, of pain, of things a child should never dream of.  
  
Jake Griffin pulled her daughter into an embrace, she stood there for a moment, inhaling him yet again before pulling away. “Goodnight.” She spoke lightly.  
  
The man moved towards the door, pulling the knob towards him, but the door refused to open.  
  
“Oh, you gotta…” Clarke moved in-between him, unlocking the door.  
  
“Forgot how doors worked.” He mumbled, his fingers once again snaking around the knob. He moved to pull the door again. He succeeded, the night air rushing into the home. Jake was just about to step out when something in the corner of his eye caught his attention.  
  
In that entranceway of the Griffin household, was a closet that the family had stored coats, light jackets, and umbrellas in. But, when that entranceway closet opened from the inside, Jake knew that a coat didn’t somehow come to life and open it on its own.  
  
Instead, a figure dressed in a black robe and hood flew out, its face covered by a plain white mask that looked like something from a horror movie. Clarke sought to scream at the intruder, to alert Kane, but the shrill cry was jammed in her throat.  
  
The figure moved swiftly, without hesitation, drawing a sharp blade from the innards of their robe. The knife-edge reflected underneath the light, a gleam that felt blinding to Clarke. The girl’s feet froze in place, her hands held tightly to her side. Her eyes sparked with a terrifying thought: her body was paralyzed in fear.  
  
Everything moved so quickly, her mind implored her to do something, her heart thumped, crying for her to move. But, her body refused to cooperate. And, when that figure brought the knife down towards her, she knew for certain that she was going to die.  
  
Jake Griffin leapt into the encounter without reluctance, without fear. His mind shut down as his body’s paternal instincts kicked in. Parents always did the same thing when their child was being threatened – like in a car crash, in those seconds of awareness, their arm would fly outwards to protect their child from hurling through the windshield.  
  
The figure, with intents of sinking their blade into the skin of Clarke Griffin, instead found themselves penetrating the muscle of Jake instead. The knife twisted so forcefully in the flesh of Jake’s arm, the father was sure they had cut through bone. He yelped at once, his mind finally realizing exactly what he had done. His arm pounded with a fire so severe the only thing he could do was scream, the noises spilling from his throat like a cup of overflowing liquid.  
  
Blood gushed out of the wound when the intruder pulled the knife out. They moved again, this time for Clarke, but Jake moved with them. They brought the razor down again, it found a new home within the hole of Jake’s stomach. He wanted to scream again, but the agony ran so deep that he could think of nothing but the blood pouring out from him.  
  
Clarke’s eyes shone with an extreme horror at the scene. With her feet, still frozen in place, her eyes begun to well up. Clarke’s body screamed at itself – to activate her fight or flight system. But, her system had crashed, unknown error encountered. So, she screamed instead. A deep, guttural scream, a banshee-scream, one so loud she was sure it would shatter glass across the neighborhood.  
  
The figure winced, tugging and pulling their knife from out of the man. Jake clutched at the fresh wound in his abdomen before collapsing to the ground. The killer stared down at him before stretching their arm into the air again, the blood-stained knife smiling down on her. This time, Clarke knew that without her father protecting her, she was done for.  
  
Marcus Kane rushed out into the hallway, his fingers gripped firmly around his gun. When his eyes fell onto the bloody scene, he pulled the trigger immediately. The bullet launched with a force that whizzed past Clarke and hit the window behind her, the glass smashed and fell to the floor in sharp shards.  
  
The figure sprang back, startled. Their eyes moved between Clarke and the open doorway. Would they have enough time to slice her open?  
  
Kane pressed his finger against the trigger again, the bullet grazed past the figure’s robe. The chief of police cursed underneath his breath.  
  
The figure moved quickly, their robe upturned in the air, as they fled through the open doorway and into the night. Kane rushed through the hallway, “Call an ambulance!” he nearly screamed at Clarke as he trailed the silhouette into the night.  
  
Then and only then, did Abby appear from the kitchen. Her nose crinkled at the strange metallic scent, once she realized that it was blood, she moved at once. She hastily checked her daughter for injuries before to Jake on the floor. She pushed her hands on his stomach wound, blood poured out from the slash and enveloped her hands in a pool of crimson liquid. She didn’t need to be a doctor to know that the wound was too deep, and he was losing blood too quickly.  
  
“Clarke!” The woman cried, “Ambulance!”  
  
Clarke’s body quivered as she hurriedly slid her fingers into the crevice of her jeans. She dialed 911 and pressed the phone to her ear, “Yes… hello… I – I” the words refused to come out.  
  
Abby gestured for the phone, and Clarke shoved it into her hands without resistance. Abby spoke quickly, uttering the matter’s importance and the address before hanging up and setting the phone on the floor. Her hands now pressing harder into her ex-husband’s mortal wound.  
  
“Dad…” The word came out pitchy in her throat, tears spilling from her eyes. Clarke’s knees gave out as she joined her parents on the floor. Her jeans soaked up blood like a sponge would with water. She noticed that her own fingers had become stained with the substance, she ran a finger across the skin of her face, more blood. Blood must have splattered on her face when the man pulled the knife out.  
  
Jake Griffin wanted to say something, to tell his daughter he was going to be okay. But, even through his hazy thoughts did he know that was a lie. His breaths came out short and shallow, his eyes blinked back spiritlessly. There was a moment before his body begun to tremble and twitch like a fish out of water, then Jake went still.  
  
Kane appeared again in the doorway, out of breath and his face slick with sweat, “He’s gone.”


End file.
